Island Orphan
by ChangedAgain
Summary: Sawer/OC Cammy's 15 and alone on the plane, so when it crashes people-especially Jack-treat her like the island's orphan. Sawyer has other thoughts, and so does Cammy. She also has secrets, seen through flashbacks. Fic has dark themes,beware. Chap 24 up.
1. Chapter 1

Island Orphan

Chapter 1

The crash itself wasn't so bad. I fell asleep peacefully long before anything went wrong with the plane, and I woke up, wet and sandy, with one of those yellow-elastic oxygen masks still hanging off my face. I didn't put it on myself. I was sore as hell, all over, but it was worst in two places. The bump already forming at the side of my head, and the places where my legs were darkening into a few big bruises. I was so relieved when I understood that those were my worst injuries, that my skin wasn't even broken anywhere and all my body parts functioned perfectly. I stood up with difficulty, sliding partly because of the hot sand that was _everywhere_ and partly from the sudden dizziness that drenched me.

I stood, alone in the surf, for a moment, just breathing calmly. It took me a long time to notice the blue-spotted handbag sitting not two feet from me. My carry-on bag. I didn't realize how miraculous it was until a lot later, but I was happy to see it all the same.

"Are you alright?" a sweaty, wild-eyed man in a suit asked me, pausing before me though he looked as though he'd been running towards something specific. I looked in the direction he'd been heading. A blonde girl, quite young but certainly older than me, was crying out and clutching . . . her enormous, protruding stomach.

"Don't I look alright? Christ, go help the fucking pregnant chick!" I gasped hotly. He looked at me as though I'd been needlessly rude or something, before running off messily through the sand. True, it was probably strange and unpleasant for him to hear someone like me cursing like that. And he'd only been trying to help . . . I suddenly felt somewhat guilty, ashamed of my uncharacteristic outburst. I pivoted, looking for something helpful to do, maybe to make up for yelling at that guy.

The first person I came across was this gorgeous (in a slightly androgynous way) guy, boy, man, whatever, who seemed to be doing the same thing as me, running about and trying to help any way he could. I kept searching, disorganized and not feeling helpful at all. I couldn't find anybody that seemed to need help, but I kept walking, unable to just sit on my ass.

"Son of a bitch!"

I turned eagerly towards the man who'd cursed, but he was standing upright, seemingly as nearly-untouched as me. He'd only sworn because of the plane engine he'd just seen explode, sucking some random guy through it in its last seconds.

I couldn't help but stare, just a little. The 'son of a bitch' guy was fucking hot. I hated myself for being able to think something like that at a time like this, and tore my eyes away painfully. I was too late, though. He'd seen me looking.

"What're you staring at, girlie?" His voice sent shivers of pleasure down my spine, as it would never fail to do over the next several weeks, but more than that, it scared me. _He_ intimidated me half to death.

"Nothing."

"If you wanted to thank me, you could just do it." He half-smiled, half-snarled.

"For what?" I asked, incredulous.

"I saved your life, not ten minutes ago." He seemed indignant.

"I don't . . ." suddenly, it clicked. This guy'd been sitting behind me on the plane, I had barely gotten a glimpse of his face. "You put the oxygen thing on me?"

"Sure did, freckles."

"What happened to 'girlie'?"

"I'm trying a few different ones out. We'll see which one sticks."

"Well, thanks for saving me. You could have just woken me up, I was only asleep." I didn't like the thought of his fingers all over me without my knowledge, for some reason.

That was my first conversation with Sawyer. I was the first person to talk to him on this island, and I'm glad that I got the chance before he decided he wanted everyone to hate him. It felt like a long time before I talked to him again.

An hour later, I was sitting on the beach with my head rested on my knees. I stared at the naturally strawberry-blonde (heavy on the strawberry, it was nearly red in certain lights) hair that fell there. The commotion had died down a lot, and nobody was in immediate danger anymore. Nobody had told me anything, but it wasn't as though I expected somebody to declare themselves mayor of us all and let me in on anything. Not that there was anything to be let in on, or anything.

Nobody seemed to notice me, sitting alone near the place where jungle met beach. They were all too immersed in their own trauma, at first. But then people began approaching me with troubled expressions that alternated into smiles.

The first was Hurley.

"Hello." He said, settling himself awkwardly on the sand beside me.

"Hey. I'm Cammy."

"Hurley."

"As in the brand name?"

"What?"

"Nevermind."

"So, uh, are you, like, here by yourself?"

"Yeah. I was visiting my big sister in Australia, my parents didn't come with this time."

"Well, I'm sure we'll be out of here and back in L.A. before we have time to miss civilization."

"You think?"

"Yeah. I sure hope so, anyway, it's my mom's birthday tomorrow."

"Bummer. At least you have a good excuse for missing it, if you do."

"Yeah. So, I spent the last half hour trying to find somebody to get some answers from, but then I realized, nobody has any."

"I know how you feel."

"I bet this is really traumatic for someone your age . . . "

"I'm alright, I think. Never really been a panicker, I'm the kind of person to stay on the sinking boat until it's at the bottom of the ocean and _then_ freak out. Talk about broken coping skills, eh?"

"At least you're not the only kid on the island." Hurley said, seeming at a loss to reply more thoroughly.

"I'm not?"

He pointed across the beach to a young black boy who was running about with something long and red in his hand. A leash.

"You weren't kidding when you said _kid_, were you?"

"Well, how old are you, then?"

"I'm fifteen. He's what, nine?" I scowled a little.

"I didn't say you have to get married or anything." Hurley shrugged.

"Yeah. Sorry if I'm a little grumpy, a plane crash can do that to me."

"Ah, it's cool. We're all a little on edge. Listen, I'm gonna go look for my walkman some more. Just let me know if you need anything, alright?"

"Thanks, Hurley. I think I'll be fine." I smiled at him as he heaved to his feet and left.

The next was Charlie. He was a jittery guy, but really sweet and pretty funny. He told me the same as Hurley had, that I should just let him know if I needed anything.

Next was Kate. While she was a little less open and friendly, I immediately counted her as someone I could trust and count upon on this island.

Then Mr. Locke. He was sort of a strange man, lackadaisical about the whole situation. He didn't give me sympathy and worry like the others had, when I told him that I'd been alone on the plane. I liked that.

And then, Jack. The sweaty man in the suit, from the beach. At least he'd taken off that ridiculously inappropriate suit jacket by now.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry for yelling at you like that. You were just trying to help." I offered when he approached but didn't say anything.

"Of course, don't worry about it."

"So, can I help you with anything?" He was just staring at me with a funny look on his face.

"I just wanted to see if you were okay. I mean, you're alone here, and most of the adults are in shock right now."

"I'm fine. Thank you for your concern, though. What's your name?"

"I'm Jack. I'm a doctor, for future reference."

"Cammy. Why would I need to know that you're a doctor for future reference? We're going to get rescued any minute now, aren't we?"

"Probably, yeah."

"Well, I'll keep it in mind, anyway."

"Alright. And, Cammy?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry about a thing. We're all going to be fine." He was already about to leave again.

"Where are you going?"

"To see what I can do for the man with the shrapnel." He sighed, looking utterly frenzied, before jogging off down the beach.

This Jack seemed safe, just like Kate. I took his advice and didn't worry at all. This island was full of decent people who wouldn't let anything bad happen to me.

I rested my head sideways on my knees again, watching the sun begin to set. From this position I had a good view of the beach, with a lot of people to watch. I liked people-watching. The one that I kept the closest eye on was, strangely enough, was the person doing the least to entertain me. All he did was alternately sit and stand, chain-smoking and looking out at nothing.

When we heard the noise, I'd just remembered my bag and thought to open it and see the condition stuff was in. I had three books in there, and none of them were wet or even bent in the slightest. I delighted in the small blessing, though I'd finished two of them and one didn't interest me much at all. Still, I flipped through it absently, not getting immersed. And then there was the noise. It was like a couple hundred layers of sheet metal being torn apart while an army of bulldozers moved as a pack. The noise came in a few short bursts before it was joined by a long wail, like a whale's song but much higher pitched.

And then it was over. People chattered about it all night, trying to figure out what on earth could make such a sound. Nobody slept much, but I think I got more sleep than some. Even after the unexplainable sound, I wasn't very worried. I wasn't very eager to get home.

FWOOOO (flashback indicator noise)

I tossed and turned in my bed, trying to get to sleep, trying to ignore the yelling that resonated through the house. It was more of the same, really. I never actually freaked out or anything until the volume reached a certain level or the regular flow of the argument was interrupted. This usually didn't happen. Eventually they tired of their fighting, and soon after I fell asleep.

When I got home from school the next day, the phone rang almost the moment I walked in the door.

"Hello?" I said.

"Hey, Cam."

"Debbie! Hi." I hadn't heard from my sister in weeks.

"So, mom called me today."

"And . . . ?"

"She told me how bad things are between her and dad."

"Okay . . ."

"She says she thinks it's for real this time. They might get divorced."

"Finally."

"She doesn't want you around to see all that. She was thinking you could come stay with me for a while."

"What do _you _think of that idea?" I asked, my heart beating painfully fast and my palms already beginning to sweat.

"You know I'd love to see you, Cammy. So what do you say, think you could spare a few weeks of school to come visit me down under?"

I needed to sit down; there were no chairs around or anything. My shirt felt like it was sticking to me everywhere. I could barely breathe, and still I tried to keep my tone calm.

"Are you still with that Jared guy?" I asked. I could almost hear her scowl.

"Cammy, we're _married_. I think you'd hear if we split up."

"Listen, Deb, I'll think about it. I'd really like to see you, but . . . "

"But what? You can't seriously hate my husband so much that you'd say no to two weeks out of school, lounging about in Australia."

"No, it's not that . . . Jared's alright, I guess." I lied.

"Then what is it?"

"I've been struggling a little with keeping my grades up, this year, You know that. I'm worried that I won't be able to get away with missing a few weeks like I used to."

"The reason your grades have dropped isn't that you're not smart enough, Cam. It's that you're in such a toxic environment, with mom and dad constantly fighting. If you come down here while they get all sorted out, you can have somewhat of a fresh start back at school."

"Okay. I said I'll think about it, Debbie. I really want to come."

"Damnit, you'd better say yes."

"Why?"

"Well, you've never said no before . . . we thought you'd jump at the chance to come down here. So, I sort of already bought your two-way ticket for you."

"You did _what_?" Cold fear drenched me. Only now that I was starting to feel utterly trapped did I realize how fully I did _not_ want to go to Australia.

"If you don't want to come, then . . . that's fine." Debbie sounded hurt.

"No, Deb, I'll come." I sighed. "You say this was Mom's idea? So, she won't object?"

"Of course not. Your plane leaves next Wednesday, you'll be going home eighteen days after that, on a Sunday."

"That's more than two weeks." I pointed out.

"See you soon, Cammy. I can't wait!"

She hung up on me, and I burst out in tears before I even put the phone down.

FWOOOO (/end flashback indicator noise)


	2. Chapter 2

When I woke on the soft, morning-cool sand of the beach, it wasn't to my usual alarm; a blaring snippet of radio, or even the sound of my parents starting up with a rare early-morning argument. It wasn't to the peaceful birdsong I'd not had time to fully adjust to in Australia, either. It was to the sound of uncertainty. It was in the snores of all 40-plus survivors. It hung thickly over us like a blanket we couldn't shake off when it got too hot.

I scrambled to my feet, out of my primitive tent. I was hungry. This was a tropical island, there was probably pineapples or something somewhere. I decided to venture into the jungle, not too deep for fear of whatever made last night's noise.

Purely by coincidence . . . my travels brought me pretty far down the beach to where Sawyer happened to be sleeping. Of course, I didn't even know his name then. I mainly thought of him as 'the son of a bitch guy'. He was curled up a little as though he'd been cold when he fell asleep, though it was hot and sunny now. I hoped he'd wake up before his bare arms and face burned.

I didn't find any pineapples, but there were mangoes aplenty. I filled my bag with them, though I knew I could only eat one or two myself. On impulse, I dropped a few into the sand near the 'son of a bitch' guy, my heart speeding up as I hoped he wouldn't wake up and see me. I didn't take him for the kind of person that would appreciate pity-mangoes. The rest of the fruit I put in a central area where people could see them.

I wasn't totally the only one awake. The Asian woman smiled at me when I offered her a mango, and one for her sleeping husband. She said a quiet word or two in Chinese, maybe Vietnamese or Korean, which I understood to be a 'thank-you'. Kate was also up, and clearly she'd had the same idea as me. Her arms were laden with fruit. An Arab man sat, looking at a piece of paper, maybe a photograph.

I sat and read, butchering the mangoes into a sticky mess, until more people were awake.

Around midday, Jack, Kate, and Charlie set off to try and find the cockpit or something. They were gone most of the day, which for me consisted mainly of people introducing themselves to me kindly, a few more mangoes, and a lot of Sawyer-watching. Jack and them got back just as the first really interesting thing happened.

Sawyer and the Arab man had gotten into a fight. It was pretty clear that Sawyer's stereotypical bullshit was to blame, but I couldn't help but glare at Sayid a little, mentally egging the S.O.B. guy on. I later felt a bit guilty for this.

Jack and leash-kid's dad broke the fight up, and Kate announced (with excellent timing) that they'd found the plane's transceiver. Sayid thought he could fix it, maybe. A little while later, he and Kate were talking about going into the jungle. Sure, it would have broken up the monotony, but I didn't even bother asking to go with. No doubt they thought it was dangerous in there (not that I disagreed, or anything) and I didn't want to come off as some hot-headed, wannabe-grownup kid.

It wasn't until five minutes later, when I looked over to the S.O.B.-guy's little campsite and he wasn't there, that I regretted not going. Just a little. I didn't know what my problem was! Yeah, the guy was hot, but he was a total loner and didn't seem very friendly _at all_. Plus he was, like, thirty or something.

Hurley interrupted my thoughts, stopping in front of my tarp-draped-over-poles shelter.

"Hey, Cammy. You wouldn't happen to have any medication on you, would you? Specifically pills ending in . . .'cillan' and, oh, what's that other one..."

"I have some Midol or something, that's about all." I said, frowning. "Sorry."

Nothing else happened that day. I was bored out of my mind, which meant that I got to think about just how scared I really was. How much I missed my parents and my sister and the damned cat, back home in Seattle. And as day two on the island waned down to nothing, and Sawyer still hadn't returned from wherever they'd gone, I realized that now was a good time for a good cry.

I ventured into the jungle a little ways, until I came to a small clearing with a fallen tree to sit on. I let myself wallow in the circumstances, in the unbelievable despair of it all. There was no pinpointable moment where I gave up hope, but last night rescue had been assumed, and as the velvety dark of the island enveloped me a second time, rescue was severely doubted.

I never meant to fall asleep out there, fifty feet from camp. But I awoke to a light, if not gentle, nudge to my ribs. I think it was somebody's foot.

"Sawyer! Don't kick her!" Hissed Kate. I scrambled to a sitting position, shielding my eyes from the morning sun.

"Well, good morning." Sawyer laughed at me before ambling the rest of the way to camp.

My face burned painfully in embarrassment.

"You okay?" Kate asked. My head pounded from sleeping on the ground.

"Just fine. I had to get away from the commotion of camp for a while, y'know?" It was partly true. "Didn't mean to fall asleep."

"C'mon." She stretched out a hand to pull me to my feet, and after I let the dizziness clear a little, we headed to the beach.

"Kate! Have you seen-" Jack started on her, before spotting me.

"Cammy, where have you been? We've all been freaking out."

"I went for a walk. Relax. I'm fine." I said.

"Okay . . . so, did you guys have any luck?" Asked Jack. Sayid began to speak to all the assembled, curious bystanders, though, so we listened.

He basically said that they needed electronics to boost the transceiver's signal or something. I tossed him my cell phone, later. But while he was talking I had a hard time following his words, coated with a pleasant accent though they were. I was too busy watching Sawyer. _What a dumb name_, I thought. _And he has dumb hair, too. And those dimples! Who does he think he's kidding?_ He was kidding me, I guess. My crush on this jackass was nothing but a ridiculous hindrance, and I wished I could make it go away. But try as I may, I couldn't tear my eyes off him.

That night . . . was horrible. I covered my ears, rolling to my side, as I tried to block out the sounds of that poor marshal guy screaming. I wanted somebody to do something, to put him out of his misery, to put us all out of this torturous situation. And somebody did. The shot rang out, not far from my tent. A _gun_? Must've been the marshal's . . . I hopped to my feet and run full-out towards the noise. My stomach rolled and clenched when I saw Sawyer exiting the injured man's tent, a gun in his hand.

"What did you . . . " I whispered. Jack backed my question up, but with a furious scream instead of my ashen question.

"What you couldn't. Look, I get where you're coming from being a doctor and all, but he wanted it. Hell, he asked me. So, I don't like it any more than you do, but something had to be done."

When we heard the faint coughing, spluttering, the moans of increased agony . . . I puked into the ocean, sickened at what Sawyer had done. I caught his eyes briefly, he looked defensive, pleading.

Jack ran in there, trying desperately to fix the man. Sawyer looked devastated, like a child who'd just broken something very important by accident. He tried to light up a smoke, but his lighter wasn't working. I remembered seeing some matches near my tent, and I ached to run back there and get them, Sawyer looked so pitiable. But on the other hand, I wanted to keep well away from him. I was shaking, suddenly cold, and even then I couldn't _not_ look at his face. He saw me looking a second time.

"I don't want your pity." He said quietly, walking away.

The next morning, there were a few events to break up the monotony of island life. Boars tried to eat some of our dead fellow passengers, and we ran out of food. When I put it like that, it sounds sort of obvious. Boars, food . . . boars . . . food . . . kind of a no-brainer. But, I mean, they were _big_ pigs. Also, Mr. Locke threw a knife nearly at Sawyer's head, causing my heart to palpitate violently for the next ten minutes. Kate, Michael, and Locke went out into the jungle to _try_ to kill a pig, and finally, people started talking about burning all the dead bodies in the fuselage. I didn't really care one way or another about this, as I didn't know any of the people in there. I sometimes counted myself lucky to have been alone on the plane, it would have been infinitely worse to have had a loved-one die in the crash.

Though there were many exciting proceedings, none of them involved me. The most me-centred thing to happen was Jack coming to see how I was holding up. Everybody else had _something_ to do, someone to talk to, so I felt like sort of a charity-case. Sawyer was sitting by himself, too, but at least he was immersed in a book. I had nothing good to read, and nobody I'd polled had anything I might like, either. A few people offered me _Twilight_, with good intentions. They didn't _mean_ to make me gag. I was a fifteen-year-old girl, I should like that sort of thing. But I gave up after politely smiling and telling them '_thanks, but I've already read it.'_

I laughed to myself like some kind of deranged loser when I noticed Sawyer pick up a copy of that very book and try to read it. He lasted fifteen minutes before tossing it aside, all disgusted-like, as though it had the bubonic plague.

I wanted so badly to go ask him whether he was done with any good books. he was constantly reading, and he'd finished several already. But I wasn't nearly desperate enough to ask. So I decided I needed a project. Weaving baskets, maybe. Or whittling . . . something. Well, there was always a demand for more fruit. I sighed, feeling unimportant. Were my only purposes fruit-picking and being the biggest charity case on the island?

What on earth could I do that would be helpful? I sure as hell couldn't fish. Maybe I could organize some stuff at camp . . . like what? I didn't really want to help Claire and the others with their attempt at some sort of goodbye to all the dead people.

I guess it was back to fruit-picking.

I put my various spoils in the shade, having only occupied an hour or so. It was time; there was nothing more I could do to ward off boredom. I was going to see Sawyer.

As it turned out, it was only three days between our first conversation and the second one. Like I said, it felt like forever. It would have been a lot longer if I hadn't initiated the conversation. To be honest, I was terrified that he'd be mean to me, but I had to do it.

"Uh, Sawyer?"

"Well, hello, there, girlie."

"Yeah, I noticed you've been calling _Kate_ freckles. Which I find a little odd, I mean, I have as many freckles as her."

"But your freckles aren't your defining characteristic, girlie."

"So, does that one stick?" He looked a little confused. "_Girlie. _As a nickname. It's sort of generic." I shrugged. I found myself doing that a lot lately.

"What would you like me to call you?"

"I don't care. Maybe my name."

"Well, Cameron, what can I do you for?" He had this mischievous wink in his eye that both delighted me and told me that he wouldn't just _give_ me anything.

"Well, I've seen you reading a lot."

"And . . . ?"

"And I was wondering if you had any books you're done with, maybe you'd like to trade? I have some that are okay . . ."

"Well, Cammy, I _have_ nearly run out of reading material, that's true. But I have a feeling that I don't have much that'd interest you, and you probably don't have a whole helluva lot that I'd like, either."

"Maybe not. I have _Life of Pi_, and I know the irony is unbearable . . . some cheesy sci-fi thing, and a murder mystery." I was glad when he looked a little surprised.

"Where'd you get those?"

"My bag. Somehow it landed right beside me, still zipped and perfectly fine. But I really wish I had my luggage, it has the book I _really_ want to finish reading in it."

"What book would that be?"

"_Silverwing_. A little juvenile, even for me, I know, but those damned bats are addictive."

He squinted at me, looking like he was thinking delicately.

"Your luggage doesn't happen to be purple and full of _days of the week_ panties, does it?"

"Fuck, yes." I was so happy to hear that it was okay, I didn't even care much that he'd gone through my underwear.

"Well, fancy that. By the way, _miss_ _Thursday_, the plane crashed on a Sunday. The Sunday undies are safe and sound in your purple bag, here, and the only ones missing are Thursday's."

"You're getting to the point of inappropriate." I reminded him gently, reluctantly. He seemed to agree, because the smile slid off his face and he shook his head as if to clear it, ending up with a scowl.

"Okay." He drew the word out, making it sound like he was backing out of a dangerous room. "I have your dumb book, right here. What do you want to trade for it?"

"I'll give you all the books I told you about, I'm done with them."

"Cammy, I have a copy of _Life of Pi_ right here, and I've never been a sci-fi kinda guy. I think you want what I've got a lot worse than I want what you've got."

"C'mon, you're not telling me that my book has any value to you. Certainly you don't want to _read_ it."

"The book itself? No, it's not valuable to me. But it's valuable to _you_. And value is value."

"What are you talking about?" I said.

"I have something you want, which means I can get whatever I want from you."

"That's what I've been saying. It's kind of the whole idea of a _trade."_

He just shrugged.

"What could I possibly have that you want?"

"Everyone's got something, Cammy."

I made a noise of frustration, my face probably reddening, and turned to stomp off along the beach, but I walked straight into Jack and fell backwards onto my ass.

He looked at me with those wild eyes he often had, like he was seconds away from snapping.

"Cammy? Are you okay?"

"Just fine." I said through clenched teeth. Jack stared at my warming face for a second.

"_What did you do?" _He yelled at Sawyer.

"I didn't _do_ anything. Little _Cammy_ here came to me, looking for something I don't want to give up for nothing."

"What are you talking about?" Jack demanded.

"I was hoping he had found something of mine. Let it go, Jack."

"What does he have?" He persisted.

"Can't you just drop it?" I snapped.

"Sure. Okay." Jack said, still glaring at Sawyer.

I left them standing there, heading for my makeshift shelter. When I got to it, I planned to sit down under the canvas, but the tent's architecture kept standing out to me. I remembered the first day here, when I had been in the middle of putting together a perfectly good little tent when –guess who- came and took the poles and string from me and took over the task. The way Jack made it, it was triangular, which meant that I had to either sleep at an angle or have my feet or head stick outside. The floor that I'd intended to make of a few plane seats was now impossible, so I was perpetually sandy. I was so tired of being sandy.

I had had enough. As I approached the tent, I didn't enter it, but gave it a few good kicks until the supporting poles collapsed from under it.

It was dark before I'd rebuilt the freaking thing the way I wanted it, but I was satisfied now. Well, satisfied with my shelter, at any rate. I couldn't help but keep looking in the direction of Sawyer's lone shelter.

I really, _really_ wanted my book back. That must have been it.


	3. Chapter 3

FWOOO

Australia. Whatever my qualms about coming back here, once I saw the start of the gargantuan island, I broke into a smile, dazzled by the continent's beauty, its grace and serenity even with the wilderness it contained.

The same feeling spread over me when I saw my sister. Though she wasn't gargantuan.

"CAMMEEEEE!" the squeal reached across the airport, yanking at my shoulder and spinning me towards her hug.

"Hi, Debbie." I said, tears of reunion forming just a little.

"Hey there, Cam." Jared smiled kindly beside her.

"Hi." I muttered, wiping my short-lived tears away with my sleeve, right before I scrambled out of that Seattle-appropriate sweater.

As we drove back to the small town they now lived in (they'd been in an apartment right in Sydney, last time I was here) we chatted. Mostly Deb. I was tired, content to listen to the much-missed sound of her voice. I delighted in how she hadn't developed an accent, but still managed to use Australian slang constantly.

When we reached the modest but clearly-pricy house, Jared turned to my sister and said, "Honey, why don't you go on inside and lie down. We've got this." He indicated my bags.

"I _really_ need to use the washroom, first, actually, but yeah, Deb, you go put your feet up, we'll handle this." I lied. I stayed in the stainless-steel-flooded bathroom a little longer than was reasonable. Jared was no idiot, he'd brought everything in himself by now, knowing it would be ridiculous to wait for me to show my face.

"I was going to help you." I said, shrugging. I nearly ran to the living room, where my sister was sipping lemonade and flipping through Australian TV channels. She was like a safe-zone in some perverse game of tag. I worried at how much I could count on her, though, to be that constant indicator of 'time-out'. She hadn't been around every minute of my last trip, and she hadn't even been pregnant then.

She was only at, like, three months or something, but she was oh-so-responsible now. She had stopped rock-climbing, stopped surfing, stopped doing anything in the way of housework. _That's right_, I thought, _they have a housekeeper, now_.

So, with Debbie somewhat out of commission, I couldn't help but fear that it was only a matter of time before I lost this round of tag. Strangely enough, though, I didn't think that meant I'd be it.

FWOOO

_What do I have? What could I possibly use as a bargaining chip? _I had a hard time concentrating on these questions, as thoughts starting with _a business deal with Sawyer_ played through my head. Oddly, there were no books involved at all.

A woman had died that morning. Drowned during her morning swim. Mr. Androgynous nearly drowned himself, trying to save her. A side note about Mr. Androgynous: He had a real name. He was Boone. What a weird freaking name. Then again, what kind of name was _Sawyer_? Oh, I'd gone over that already.

Anyway, yeah, the woman. Joanna. She was dead. I didn't cry, I didn't freak out; I didn't know her. But I_ did _feel guilty over not doing those things. I just frowned when I heard the news, and went back to thinking about Sawyer and trades and my goddamned book about goddamned talking bats.

A lot happened that day. Besides the death, I mean. The water started running out. Nobody told me directly, but I overheard enough. In the morning, Jack brought me a full bottle though I still had a third of one left and others' bottles were entirely empty. Behind his back I gave the new bottle to Hurley.

Jack sort of . . . disappeared a while later. I didn't think much of it, I was just glad that he seemed able to pry his overprotective ass away from me –from all of us, really- for a while. Maybe do some yoga or something there in the jungle. That guy just really needed to chill out.

People started freaking out over water that afternoon. Like, really getting antsy. Well, especially after it got stolen. First everyone thought it was the Koreans, but then of course (following the natural procession) Sawyer was the prime suspect. I cautiously followed Kate when it became clear she was heading to Sawyer's tent.

I nearly swore at her when she tackled him to the ground, pinning him. Jealously, protectiveness, indignance in general, they all coursed through me like an electric charge. He was stronger, of course. Kate acted tough, but really she wasn't very strong or fast or brave or anything. Yeah, I was being hard on her in that moment, letting jealousy turn to spite and take my thoughts over.

Anyway, he was stronger, he rolled her onto her back but remained on top of her. I couldn't hear their words, but I hated the smile on his face. I hated it so damn much. I left, then, not even worrying or caring when Sayid pulled Sawyer off of her. I didn't care if they all beat eachother to a pulp. There was no Jack to walk straight into, this time, and the tears had a chance to get hot and discharge, again like an electric imbalance in my body. Nobody noticed me as I trudged, crying, back to my tent. I let the entrance-flap flop down, sealing me into the hot, dim, quickly-breath-filled enclosure. I turned my head to the balled-up t-shirt I had been using as a pillow, and I cried my eyes out. Not just for Sawyer. Mostly for the loneliness of being on this island. Partly because I was thirsty and I selfishly wished I hadn't given my extra water away to Hurley hours ago, even though _he_ had been thirsty then.

I fell asleep there, more alone than I'd ever felt. Just like when I was a little girl and I'd get sent to my room for some inane, trouble I'd gotten into, and I'd lie there for a while, thinking about how the whole world was against me and nobody loved me. Except that then, I'd always known on some level that when I woke up I'd feel better and my parents wouldn't be mad at me anymore and everything would be fine.

Here, on the island, I didn't know any of these things. I was pretty sure that nobody would be there, right beside me, when I woke up. As it turned out, I was wrong.

I dreamed of food and clean blankets and a 100-yard mattress and linoleum. Some of the things I missed. I later wondered whether I had a smile on my lips during that dream, or whether the tears continued to run down my face. Maybe both. I really wanted a glass of coke.

The door-flap of my tent was moved aside, letting darkness and the sound of the ocean flood in. I was probably sleeping pretty lightly, because I think that's what woke me. But it wasn't the wind that moved my door aside and peeked in at me. It was . . .

"What the fuck?" I sleepily asked.

"Sorry." The word seemed out of place, coming from his unshaven face. He turned to leave.

"No, don't go . . . !" I muttered, half-crying simply because I was half-asleep.

"Why not?" he said quietly

"Stay." Not exactly an answer.

He came and kneeled inside, one of his feet still poking out the doorway. I was so tired . . . but I forced myself to wake up, to sit up. Sawyer was in my tent.

"Why are you here?"

"I just wanted to know why you . . . earlier, today, I saw you over by the treeline near my tent. You just started crying, Thursday. Why? Do you really want the damn book?" he whispered, curiosity burning through the quiet. He also managed to sound defensive, his voice rough and guarded.

"Oh, dear." I actually said, because I was having a hard time believing I was awake.

"Well?"

"Did Kate see me, too?"

"No, she was too busy looking at me." He smirked briefly. I ducked my head, afraid that tears would form again, but they didn't. "Can you just answer my question, Cammy? Why'd you just start crying like that?"

"I miss my family. I'm scared. We're probably all going to die of dehydration. Take your pick."

"You thirsty, Thursday?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. He didn't wait for a response, ducking out of the tent gracefully. I nodded to no one. Sawyer returned with a huge bottle of water. It was cold to the touch, which was actually unpleasant because I was freezing in the night air, but I chugged a bit of it greedily. Not that I'd gone thirsty for very long, but the _fear_ of dying of thirst was enough to make me clutch at this bottle like the holy grail.

"Where'd this come from?" I asked.

"I never just get a thank-you, do I?" he mused.

"Thank you, Sawyer." I said seriously. Not just for the water. For being here when I woke up. Even if he was the cause of a good part of my sorrow, he was here, and he was being nice to me. I was so grateful.

"Don't think I didn't catch that lie. You weren't crying because we're on this island. You just suddenly started up when Kate went all pro-wrestler on me."

"What, are you fishing for compliments here, Sawyer? Yeah, you're fucking hot. Big fucking deal. Fuck!" I said, cradling my head in my hands on my knees.

"That's a really weird thing to say." He said. I wanted to tell him to go away, but I couldn't bear it if he did. "Here," he said, seeming like he was starting the conversation all over. "I brought your stuff." He pointed to the purple suitcase just outside the tent. He leaned backwards and fumbled with the clasps before presenting me with a big, baggy sweater and . . .

"Oh my god, that stupid thing." I said, reaching for the stuffed platypus, my silliest souvenir from this last trip to Australia. It was soft and furry. I laid it out as a pillow, but didn't lie down on it yet.

"Thank you. Why are you being so nice, all of a sudden?" I pulled on the sweater as I talked.

"I'm a sucker for tears. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm not supposed to have a heart. You just made me feel guilty, today, Cammy. You're just a kid, you deserve a break once in a while. But don't think this is going to become a habit. Starting tomorrow, you get the same treatment as every other shmoe on this island, including the frogurt guy."

That was a lie.

I nodded, wanting desperately to reach out and touch him, somewhere, anywhere.

"Goodnight, Cammy." He said, and was gone.

"Yeah, I'm just a kid." I echoed his words well into the night, or morning, whichever it was. They made me think of that stupid Simple Plan song that had been really popular a few years back.

_I'm just a kid and life is a nightmare_

_I'm just a kid and I know that it's not fair_

_Nobody cares, cause I'm alone and the world is_

_Having more fun than me_

_Tonight . . ._

I sighed, displeased that my attitude, my life, was starting to resemble the whiny lyrics. But I smeared tears, rare now, away with my platypus and it was okay.

When I looked through my purple suitcase in the morning, my book wasn't in there. Nothing else was missing.


	4. Chapter 4

So, as it turned out, Jack had found water and caves. There _was_ sort of a reason people bowed down to him,I guess. It was amazing how the mentality of the survivors(myself included) could be agitated or placated so easily, so quickly. Before water was an issue, we'd stressed out over getting off this rock. But in the post-drought era, the atmosphere around camp was relieved, dare I say even carefree.

Until the Korean guy attacked Michael like a man possessed. He just suddenly tackled him, I thought he was going to kill him. I looked on in horror as Sawyer and Sayid eventually managed to wrest them apart and cuff the Korean to a piece of the plane. Yes, cuff. As in handcuffs. I drew a blank as to where they could've come from, until I remembered the marshal, the gun . . .

Jack came back and basically told us to move into his new caves. It made so much sense. I wanted to get away from the sand, the sun, the sand, the crazy beach brawls, and the sand. Other people were adamant about staying here on the beach, which wasn't just fine by me, it was excellent. If _somebody_ was staying behind to keep the signal fires lit and watch for planes, then I could saunter off to the caves and let them worry about it.

There was one little bullet-point on the '_cons_' side of that list, though. Three guesses.

I knew where he'd want to stay, before I asked him. He had his stash here, he had some semblance of a settlement for himself. But I needed to know before I made my decision.

I stood in front of him as he read a book. "You're not going to the caves, are you?"

"Why do you want to know, Thursday?"

I shrugged, a lie. "For real estate purposes."

"You think I'd give my tent up to you? More like to the highest bidder, sweetheart."

"Who says that wouldn't be me?" I bullshitted. "Anyway, how many people are clamouring for this place, anyway? I don't see anyone."

"Well, why do you want it?"

I sighed. "I'm not really big on neighbours. I mean, you've got sort of a private setup here."

"Go with Jack, Cammy. Go settle in a nice little cave, safe and surrounded by safe people." He said. It sounded like he was contrasting between those _safe people_ and himself.

"Do you know whether Kate's staying?"

"Don't think she knows, herself, yet."

"Hmm." I thought aloud.

"Go, Cammy. Go to the caves." His eyes were begging me.

"Why don't you want me around?" I asked, hurt.

"Here's your dumb book." He pulled it out from under his chair and tossed it to me. "Goodbye, Thursday." He redirected his gaze, back to the book he'd been reading. His eyes didn't move across the pages, I could tell he was waiting for me to leave.

When we left the beach that evening, Kate stayed behind. Stayed there on the beach with Sawyer. He'd told me to leave, but I knew he wanted her to stay. I didn't hope they'd be happy here, together. Not that they were together. Not yet. Anyway, I didn't wish them the best. I wished them hell.


	5. Chapter 5

The caves were chilly, dank, and lonely-feeling at night. I revelled in that, after the past week on the beach. That first night at the caves, it was a time of great angst for me. I felt darkly about everything, acted like I was alone in the world. It was really just ridiculous sulking, but it felt good. When I woke up the next morning on a nest of clothes and beach towels, I couldn't help but be more cheerful.

Someone had found coffee, and there were even some not-exploded sugar sachets to put in it. There was fruit, as usual, and even eggs from nearby trees. They were fried badly on a makeshift pan, but it was the concept of eggs that counted.

The thing that yanked me out of my sullen mood the most, though, was the water. Achingly cold, blissfully unsalted water. I washed most of the salt right off of me, and was able to get dry without sand sticking all over me. Fresh socks, fresh underwear . . . it was all so decadent.

I ended up missing the big cave-in scare. Not that anybody missed me in all the chaos.

I just couldn't sit around those caves anymore, doing nothing. So I decided to take a walk. I wanted to just . . . go exploring. I knew next to nothing about the wilderness, but I wasn't stupid. I brought a bunch of bright suitcase ribbons with me, tying them to trees along the way. I still felt a little wary of wandering off like this, but I was a strong and independent young woman, and tired of not being treated as such.

I didn't feel very 'I am woman; hear me roar!' when I stumbled upon Mr. Locke and screamed in surprise. He just looked up at me from the boar he was skinning.

"Hello." He said.

"Hi, John. You just . . . startled the shit out of me." I laughed, bent double and trying to still my pounding heart a little.

"What are you doing, this far from camp?"

I shrugged. "Exploring."

"Found anything interesting, yet?"

"Nope. I'm just glad that it seems I'm not utterly lost."

He leaned, looking around me and spotting all the bits of ribbon I'd left.

"Smart. There're folks on this island who wouldn't think to do that. Especially when they're only going the equivalent of a few blocks from camp."

"What? I've been walking for like two hours!" I looked back, through the trees. Only now was I starting to see how the glimpses of ribbon didn't go in a straight line, but a semicircle. "Awww, crap." I whimpered.

"It's good you ended up here, though, Cammy. Now you can help me haul this boar back to camp."

"Yay . . ." I muttered, looking at the sticky mess. "Okay, so, what exactly do I do?" the thing was already cut into sections.

"The hindquarters should have about half of the animal's meat, enough to feed the people at the caves for a while. Should be around seventy, eighty pounds. Think you can handle that?"

"Maybe." I bent down and grasped the two legs. Little bit of a squick factor there, let me tell you. It only intensified when I lifted the big hunk of pig off the ground, slightly. Intestines slithered and poured out, rolling across the grass like a living thing and landing near John's feet.

"Oops, guess I missed those." He said. "Okay, that should be all. Now try hauling it. Don't lift, just go ahead and drag it."

"Alright." I said, beating back the slight urge to vomit. I pulled the boar's ass a little ways, straining, because it was pretty heavy. Here I was, fifteen years old, about five-foot-seven, and maybe 120 pounds. John didn't tell me to forget about it, he just went back to dealing with the rest of the boar. I kept at it.

Though I took a more direct route this time, instead of arching uselessly in a near-circle, it took me almost as long to get back as it had to get out there. But it felt so damned good to drag that half-pig into that clearing, while people watched, a little astounded.

"Where'd that come from?" Hurley said, wide-eyed. I think he expected me to announce that I'd tackled it and beat it to death with my bare hands or something. I laughed, sore.

"John killed it, of course."

"Where?" Jack asked, a bit more wide-eyed than usual, and holding his shoulder.

"A little ways out. I just thought I'd do something helpful around here for once, so I brought it back. It's about half of the boar, the other half's for the people at the beach."

I didn't like thinking about the people at the beach.

"Wow." A few people said. My face was red, I knew it, but I was a little proud of myself as I dragged by own aching carcass over to a rock ledge and sat down.

"Dude, this thing's gotta be a hundred pounds." Hurley grunted after trying to lift it.

"I doubt it." I called out.

"You shouldn't have carried it by yourself."

"I'm fine, Jack. Don't tell me what I can't do." I smiled, grabbing a bottle of water and chugging it. "So, what did I miss around here today?"

Charlie was the one who launched into the story of how he'd heroically saved Jack from the cave-in. It came out a little more modest than that, but not by much. I gasped and laughed in all the right places, and at the end I found myself very glad that they were both okay. I couldn't imagine this island without Jack and/or Charlie.

Kate was still around, after freaking out over Jack. Nobody told me, but I could tell, from the way she couldn't seem to leave his side or take her eyes off him. When she wasn't looking, I glared at her a little. _Make up your mind!_ I mentally begged her, though it was pretty clear who her choice was. She'd never really shown much interest in Sawyer, at all. But as she trudged back towards the beach in the dying light, I couldn't help but feel threatened. There was chemistry between her and Sawyer, I could feel it.

It took me a while to remember how I didn't care about him, about her, or about anyone on the beach. I was here with Charlie and Hurley and Jack, the now-peaceful Koreans, Michael and his son, and that oblivious golden retriever. I was happy. Or at least, I could kid myself into thinking I was happy.

The next morning, all fucking hell broke loose. That happened a lot around here, but this time it was different. This time it was about Sawyer. And it was number two on my list of the worst days I'd ever experienced. After that day, I began to realize how deeply and absolutely I was screwed. It was when I realized that I was in love with him.

C'mon, guys, review! Please. It really makes me feel more inclined to continue this story quickly and to bother putting effort into it. I love reviews! Suggestions for things you'd like to see are also welcome. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

When Sayid stumbled back into camp, his head bleeding and radio-related equipment smashed, I started to feel a little bit on edge. Joanna had died in a stupid accident, but this was undisputable _violence_. It freaked me right out. Maybe he –Sawyer, though I didn't like to think of him by name- had been right. Maybe it was best for me to stay close to Jack and people like him, people who would protect me.

And then along came Boone, with a name burning on his lips, hated.

"What happened?" Jack asked

"Sawyer." He coughed, bloody. I gasped as though I'd just been slapped. I stood up, wanting desperately to run to him, or to run away from this situation, just to run. But I couldn't. There was nowhere to go, no excuse to go off by myself. And I was afraid. Not afraid of _him_. No, no, no I wasn't afraid of him. He wasn't dangerous for me. I wasn't afraid of _him_. I kept telling myself these things, these lies, but still I couldn't leave the safe, dim camp. I couldn't do it.

I sat back down, against a wall of rock, and bunched my knees up to my chest. I sat there, rocking slightly, and became more and more agitated as Boone regaled us with the story of Shannon's asthma and how Sawyer . . . Sawyer had her goddamned ventolin. I felt sick, especially when I looked at the poor girl, pale and terrified and wheezing. I had asthma when I was little, but I'd grown out of it so fully that I hadn't carried an inhaler in years. I still remembered how scary it could be, though. The worst feeling in the world. Imagine you have your lips wrapped around a straw, and your nose plugged. Now, it's a wide straw, and if you work really hard you can get almost enough air through it. But it's tightening, and the more it tightens the more you panic, and the more you panic the faster it tightens. People all around you are telling you to calm down, relax, take big, deep breaths. But you know it's only going to get worse and worse until that straw has sealed up completely. You cough weakly, because it feels like maybe you can get rid of the straw if you do. Your chest is tightening around your lungs as though your ribcage is one big vice, and your lungs themselves are like little balloons that somebody is trying to blow up, but the constriction doesn't let them expand far enough.

I shook my head, snapping out of the horrible imagery, because I myself was starting to feel the slight stirrings of an attack, just thinking about one. I felt a terrible rage consume me at the thought that Shannon was going through this and Sawyer could stop it, but wasn't willing to. I wasn't alone in feeling this way.

Jack headed off towards the beach, the look on his face scaring me a little. I followed after him, a few minutes later, as inconspicuously as possible. Part of me really didn't want to, but I couldn't help myself. By the time I got to the beach, it was clear they'd just had a big testosterone-filled moment, but Kate arrived seconds before me and eased the tension. Of course. Kate. Their favourite opiate.

I stood in the bushes silently as Jack stomped off. Actually, he stomped closer to me, so that after Kate followed him, I could hear their conversation clearly. I prayed they wouldn't see me.

"I'm going to kill him." Jack seethed. I clenched my jaw unwillingly.

"That's not going to help us get the medicine."

"Maybe not, but it'll feel good."

"So, what's stopping you?"

"We're not savages, Kate. Not yet."

"Let me talk to Sawyer."

"What makes you think he's going to listen to you?"

"He says we have a connection."

"Do you?" No. No, no, no, they don't. I lied to myself, again.

Kate rolled her eyes, all insulted-like. "Please."

I went back towards the cave. I couldn't bear to see the two of them and their connection. To be honest, I couldn't even bear to see _him_ right now. I didn't know what to think, but he was acting like a monster. A bad person. Before today, I hadn't believed it for a second, I'd thought he had good in him, deep down. He did. He brought me my platypus and worried about me when he'd seen me crying. So why was he such an asshole to the rest of the world?

I took my time getting back to the caves, just wandering through the jungle and stopping to watch centipedes and stuff every once in a while. Until I heard voices. First, Sayid's pleasantly smooth accent.

"Jack, what will happen if she doesn't get the medicine?" A long pause, silence. "Then we have to make Sawyer give it to us."

"Yeah, that's what I'm going to do."

"No, not you, me. I served for five years in the Republican Guard."

"I thought you were a communications officer."

"Part of my training entailed getting the enemy to communicate." My stomach squeezed in a sharp cramp of fear. "Just give me ten minutes with him. He'll give us the medicine." Another long pause, doubtful. Say no, Jack. Talk about how we're not savages. Say no. "Is that a yes?" Sayid said dryly.

"Yes."

I ran, then. I didn't much care if they heard me, they wouldn't see me in the dim jungle. I ran as fast as I could, ran until my chest ached and threatened me with long-dormant asthma. I stopped in front of Sawyer's tent. He was _sleeping_. I was afraid to wake him, but I had to. Had to warn him. but if I warned him . . . I'd be taking the element of surprise away from Jack and Sayid, of course. He might end up hurting _them_. He was the bad guy. He had asked for this. Wouldn't it be beyond wrong to ruin their necessary plan? But . . . turmoil tore through me, panicking me.

"Sawyer?" I said quietly, not yet really deciding whether I wanted to wake him. He slept on. Maybe I could go through his things, find the medicine, and then they wouldn't have to hurt him.

Sayid appeared, a few metres away from me, and walked purposefully towards Sawyer. He picked up a big metal pipe on the way. I put a hand over my mouth, suddenly terrified not only for Sawyer but for myself. Jack was wrong, these people were capable of being savages. I had this irrational fear that if I screamed or even gasped, Sayid would use that pipe on me, too. It was stupid, of course. He would never hurt innocent little Cammy. But still, I was held in place by terror and did my best to contain myself when Sayid whacked Sawyer over the head with the pipe. I only jumped a little, and my tears were soundless. Jack was soon there, and the two of them dragged Sawyer away. I followed, yet again. What would they do to him? Maybe I could do something, anything, to convince them to stop. Maybe . . .

They tied him to a tree in the middle of a big clearing. _Far enough away that no one would hear his screams_, I thought involuntarily. He was still unconscious . . . until they splashed water on his face, drenching his hair and waking him. I just stared at him, soaking wet and momentarily disoriented, until he spoke. I didn't hear the words, just the tone. He was scared, defensive, angry as hell. I bit down on a knuckle, hard, to keep from making noise. Not hard enough to draw blood, that's a load of BS given to us in books and movies and whatever else. People don't bite themselves –or others- hard enough to draw blood, unless they're a freaking vampire. I thought of this now, because I tried, for a moment, to break the skin. I wanted to leave a mark, wanted to take my excess emotion out on myself in a dramatic way. Maybe enough to distract myself from the scene in front of me. And it didn't work; I could only leave little purple dents.

"It doesn't have to be this way." Jack said, desperately looking for an out, for himself. He didn't want this. I still hated him for doing it.

"Yeah, it does." Sawyer said. Why? Why does it have to come to this, Sawyer? You big, stupid, masochistic asshole! Why? I wanted to scream it all at him, but I didn't.

And then it started. Bamboo under his fingernails. The screaming only went on for five, maybe ten seconds, but it was enough to shatter my resolve. I took a step or two forward, prepared to run into that clearing and stop the torture. But Jack called Sayid off. The screaming paused, leaving Sawyer panting but refusing to admit anything.

"No, don't stop now. I think my sinuses are clearing."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Jack shouted, aghast.

"Perhaps losing an eye will loosen your tongue." Sayid warned, the tip of his blade dancing around Sawyer's temple. I knew he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't go that far. Sawyer didn't seem to know that, though.

"Okay, okay."

But it wasn't that simple. He had to find another way to break my heart. Another direction to slice it along. I ended up feeling it, or at least, vividly imagining it, as his words gasped out.

"The only person I'll tell is her."

"Kate?" Jack knew.

"That's the deal."

And I heard it, too. The wet, meaty tear as the bottom of my heart was ripped unevenly away, leaving so much raw and exposed and in agony.

Sayid and Jack left. To go get Kate. Miraculously, I contained my tears, pretended my heart was whole, even though the man I loved –and yes, the realization had just hit me with the heartbreak. Simultaneously.- had just been tortured, and on top of that, asked to see _her_. Yes, somehow, I kept it all under wraps. For now. And I stepped forward, out of my hiding place.

"Sawy . . . .Sawyer." I literally felt like I was choking on the word. It pulled the top of my stomach upwards with it and squeezed through my throat.

"Cammy? What the fuck are you doing here."

I shrugged, the words not yet formed in my mouth.

"You didn't just . . . aw, Thursday, did you just see . . ."

I nodded.

"You're not going to be, like, traumatized for life after seeing that display of violence, are you?'

I shrugged again. "Are you going to be alright?"

"Don't you go and care about me, Thursday. I deserved what I got."

"Why do you . . . why do you do it? Couldn't you just give it to them? That poor woman . . ."

"Thursday . . .I don't even have . . ." He started, but worthwhile words had just popped into my head, so I interrupted him.

"You can stop calling me _Thursday_. I've changed my fucking underwear." Okay, at least it _seemed _worthwhile and important, in my head.

He laughed. "Well, what day of the week is it now?"

"I guessed Saturday."

"Now, that just doesn't have the same ring to it."

"Why are you so cheerful? You've just been tortured."

"Cammy, I want you to get out of here now. Just go." He said, unexpectedly.

I nodded. "Alright . . . are you going to . . . never mind." I didn't want to know why he had requested Kate. I think I had a pretty good idea in my head already.

"Don't take it personally, Cammy." He said quietly

"Of course not." I said, just as quietly as him. Then I walked away. Back into the jungle, sort of slowly. I heard voices behind me, they grew quieter and quieter as I walked.

"So I'm here. Where is it?"

"Happy to tell you, as soon as I get that kiss."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Baby, I am tied to a tree in a jungle of mystery. I just got tortured by a damn spinal surgeon and a genuine Iraqi. Of course I'm serious. You're just not seeing the big picture here, Freckles. You really going to let that girl suffocate because you can't bring yourself to give me one little kiss? Hell, it's only first base. Lucky for you I ain't greedy."

"Okay." She said. I quickened my pace, not looking back. His reply was so faint, and I was so far away by this point, I could hardly make it out.

"Okay."

I broke into a run.


	7. Chapter 7

I just wanted to say thank you for everyone's kind comments, I'm glad you liked it. I always love more comments, so if you haven't yet, remember it's 'random acts of kindness' week! Thanks for reading, give me any suggestions for things you'd like to see in this fic ^.^

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I spent the day and evening on the beach with Claire and Charlie. I think they could tell something was wrong, at least, Claire definitely did. She didn't question me, and in fact elbowed Charlie in the ribs when he tried to. I mostly sat and stared out towards the ocean, listening to Charlie's guitar and trying not to think. It was nearly dark by the time I realized I didn't live on the beach anymore and should get back _home_, to the caves. With a borrowed flashlight, I made my way nervously alone through the jungle, though everyone at the beach advised me not to and offered to walk with me. I didn't want the company at first, but after a few minutes alone in the darkening jungle, I started to change my mind. I kept going, willing stupid tears of panic not to drip from my eyes. I'd been crying enough lately, like some whiny little pussy. I was capable of better. Of being stronger. But all I could think about was Sawyer's scream, his voice right before the torture, and his last words to me.

"_Don't take it personally, Cammy."_

What was that even supposed to mean? It made no sense. All of it surrounded me; I couldn't think straight. When I nearly walked into a slight figure in the bushes ahead of me, I screamed briefly. It had felt like I was the only person left on the planet, for a moment there. Not lonely, just separate.

A sweet voice carried a Korean apology to me.

"No, sorry, Sun. My fault. Wasn't watching where I was going."

She nodded curtly and smiled, as she often did. I think she noticed my expression, then. Her next words were a question, a pretty simple one. I think she was asking me if I was alright.

"I'm . . . I'll be fine." My smile faltered. "I had a bad day."

Another very short question. Maybe, 'Why?'

"Sawyer." I muttered. She nodded knowingly. And asked yet another question. Remarkably, I was pretty sure I understood the gist. 'What did he do now?' She spoke slowly, with a lot of emphasis on different words. I never imagined that she could understand what I said next, though.

"He's so . . . stupid. Stubborn. He made them hurt him, today. I saw. It was horrible. And then . . . he broke my heart, Sun."

I could have sworn the concerned light in her eyes flickered as though she'd just been slapped. She looked confused. But that was to be expected, she couldn't understand a word I said.

A moment later, Jin came hurrying through the trees. He spotted Sun and said something, a bit harsh-sounding, in Korean. Then his gaze turned to me, and his upset expression vanished. A few more words. Sun responded slowly. He nodded knowingly. They were both doing that a lot, but maybe it only seemed so to me because I didn't expect them to understand things. He smiled lightly and turned back towards the caves.

"What did you tell him?"

She just sort of looked at me, not understanding.

"Did you tell him what I said about Sawyer?" I asked, panicked. It was ridiculous, she couldn't even understand the secret I'd spilled to her.

"Sawyer? No." She said. She motioned to her lips, then to the two of us, and made a sock-puppet motion with her hand, indicating talking, maybe babbling. I think I understood. Girl-talk. That's all she told him, nothing specific. I smiled.

"Thank you, Sun." Thank you for not being able to understand.

We walked back to the caves together, and I fell asleep as quickly as possible, trying to keep Sun's sweet calm I my head instead of the bloody scream and heart-tearing words that belonged there.

When I woke, early in the morning, I huddled around the fire with a cup of tea. John sat with me in silence for a while, before leaving to get an early start on boar-hunting. I had half a mind to ask if I could go with, but my body felt a bit like lead. After that, I sat by myself until Jack got up. Others began to wake and bustled about the camp, but Jack and I were the only ones around the fire, just sitting in eachother's company. Unlike Locke, I talked to Jack. Actually, he talked to me, first.

"Good morning, Cammy."

"Morning, Jack." I'd forgotten I was supposed to hate him for letting Sayid hurt Sawyer. I'd even forgotten to hate Sayid. I don't know if I could hate them if I _had_ remembered I was supposed to.

"We've been here over a week, now. How are you holding up?"

"I'm . . . struggling. But no more than anyone else here, I'd say. I'm healthy, physically. I've been a little bored, but I don't suppose you could do anything about that, anyway."

"Oh, you might be wrong, there. I've been trying to find somebody to help organize the supplies, specifically the medical supplies, into some sort of order. A few people have started, but there's a _lot_ of stuff on this island. A lot of it's not very useful, but it's not as though we're going to throw anything out. You never know what can come in handy on a deserted island."

"Deserted? You think there were people here, once?" I asked.

"Figure of speech, Cammy. Anyway, you think you're up for the challenge of organizing the caves? If you end up hating it, you can quit at any time."

I shrugged. "Why not? I've always had a knack for organization. Not that I _use _it, or anything, but it's there. I get to the point of OCD with some things, even."

"Great. Now, I was thinking we'd organize all the medicine by use. There's an inordinate amount of antibiotics specifically designed for ear infections, you can start with those. If the containers aren't clearly labelled, the most common names will be Neomycin, Polymyxin, or-"

"Chloramphenicol. And Amoxycillin, maybe?" I interrupted.

"Yeah. Exactly. How did you know that?"

"I helped my sister seriously cram for her exams last spring. She was becoming a pharmacologist."

"Oh. Neat. Convenient, actually."

"Yeah. So, you said you wanted to sort this stuff by use? Well, we're not exactly in a drugstore, here. Amoxycillin might traditionally be good for ear infections . . . but around here I think an ear infection is pretty low on the list of most common ailments. If you'd like, I could sort all the antibiotics according to strength, instead of by the part of the body they're used on."

I could tell Jack didn't like being outdone or proven wrong. He smiled, though. "It's up to you, Cammy. I'll leave you to it." He picked up his backpack and started walking away.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"I need to bring Sawyer _his_ antibiotics." Jack looked so pissed off, frustrated. Like he was dealing with an idiotic teenager who was making his life a lot more difficult.

"Antibiotics? For what? Don't tell me he has an ear infection." I feigned sarcasm.

"Oh, you didn't find out about all that. Yesterday, there was an accident . . ."

"An accident. Yeah, let's call it that." I seethed suddenly.

"And Sawyer kind of got . . . stabbed." Jack scuffed a toe against the dirt timidly.

"Stabbed? _Stabbed?_ Who stabbed him? I know it might be _fun_ for you guys to _torture_ him, but _stabbing_? Holy _fuck_, Jack. Holy _fuck._" I caught my breath. "Wait, he's alright, isn't he. You said you're just bringing him antibiotics. Where'd he get stabbed, exactly? And why does nobody tell me _anything_ around here?"

"Calm down, Cammy. Just calm down."

"I will _not_ calm down until I get some goddamned answers!" I nearly screamed. People were staring at me.

Jack looked pressured. As though he didn't want to tell me about this, but didn't want me to continue making a scene, either.

"Alright. Alright. After . . . after Sayid interrogated him . . ."

"Could have tried a more subtle approach, first, couldn't he?"

"Stop interrupting, if you want to hear what happened. Okay, so, after Sayid . . . after _we_ did what we did, which you really should not have seen, Cammy, then we came to realize that he didn't have the medicine."

"What? But Shannon's fine, now. I assumed you got the ventolin."

"No, no. Sun found eucalyptus. It worked wonders."

"Eucalyptus! Oh, my God. I should have thought of that. Even menthol would probably be a big help. I bet stuff like that is _everywhere_ on this hellhole rock!"

"Cammy, stop talking. I don't have all day to stand here and tell you what you demand to know." He seemed peeved, but not really angry at me.

"Sorry. Go on."

"Okay." He took a big, exaggerated breath. "Sayid didn't believe that he didn't have the medicine. He kind of . . . lost it. A little. And I don't think he was going to do anything too drastic, but he had a knife. And Sawyer somehow got untied, and there was a scuffle, and it ended with the knife three inches into Sawyer's arm, right through an artery."

"Holy crap. Oh, my god. Oh my god." I said, feeling my eyes water simply from being held open so wide for so long.

"Calm down. I stopped the bleeding pretty quick, patched him up. He's _fine_."

"He's fine?"

"He's fine."

"So why were you making such a big deal out of it?" I asked.

"Me? Why was _I_ making such a big deal out of it? Cammy, you'd better watch yourself. You need to be careful about the way you're thinking about certain things. We want you to be safe."

"So does he. Everyone wants me to be _safe_." I said quietly. I turned away. "Sorry for yelling at you, Jack. You deserve more respect than I give you." I picked up an armful of meds and started examining them. "Go, do your thing. I'll get started here."

"You're upset."

"Yeah, Jack, I'm upset." I said, with a characteristic shrug. "Do we need to worry about Sayid? I know you think Sawyer deserved to get stabbed, but is Sayid going to be a danger to anyone else?"

"He felt bad, Cammy. Really bad. He left. He went to map the coast of the island, he said. We'll see him again, probably, but he had to get out of here."

"Huh. I never thought _just leaving_ was an option." I muttered.

"It's not. Cammy, it's not an option. You take off and we will track you down and bring you back here. There is no way I'm going to let anything happen to you on this island."

"It's great to know everyone cares so much about me." I said softly, nearly sincerely.

"We do. Nobody's going to let you get hurt in any way."

"You'd think I'd find that a nice change from the life I was used to, back in the States. About ten days ago I would have . . . it doesn't matter. Go treat your patient." Stupid, stupid tears, I was so tired of them, they were rolling down my face yet again. My back was to him, but he could tell. We just stood there for a moment.

"Cammy?"

"Go, Jack." I continued sorting fungicides and weak painkillers. I heard him leave, behind me. I kept my hands busy, and it was good. It felt like doing dishes, back home. I missed dishes. I tried to think back to the last time I washed dishes . . . in Australia, at my sister's house.

FWOOO

Soapsuds and warm water coursed over my hands as I twisted a dishrag through a glass, dislodging residual flecks of lemon pulp. It was amazing how much lemonade my sister went through in a day.

Suddenly I felt cool, dry hands at my waist, contrasting the safe warmth inside the sink starkly. I wriggled myself slightly, hoping to shake him off. The hands only encroached further, caressing their way to my stomach.

"Don't." I said firmly, to no effect. "Jared, so help me God . . ." my empty threat petered out halfway through, as fear took over. I turned the taps off and put my hands atop his, wrenching his fingers away with difficulty. I pushed his hands down to his sides as hard as I could, as though I seriously thought they might stay there. I turned and walked quickly towards the living room.

"Deb?" I called when I came into view of her. She didn't respond at first. "Deborah?" panic made my voice rise.

"Yeah?" a muffled reply came, finally.

"She was _sleeping_, Cam."Jared said with annoyance. I barely glanced at his face and the playful smile that sat there, contrasting against his tone.

"Sorry. I was wondering where you keep your S.O.S. pads, that pot from the chicken wings is pretty bad."

"Right under the sink. You could have just asked Jared." She was a little annoyed, too.

"Yeah. Next time. Sorry, try and go back to sleep."

Back into the kitchen. He followed me, of course.

"You really shouldn't pester Deb when she's resting."

"She's pregnant, not dying." I snapped. I wanted to finish the dishes I said I'd do and go hole up in the guest bedroom, but I didn't want my back to him for a second.

"Here, I'll dry." He said, picking up a dry cloth. He still had that horrible, mischievous look in his eyes.

We worked in silence for a while. When all of the dishes were clean, I bolted down the sunlit hall. No footsteps followed me. There was no playful knock at my door that night. I breathed repeated sighs of relief, but this was only my third night in Australia.

FWOOO


	8. Chapter 8

This chapter contains some real sexual content, but don't get too excited. It's not graphic, for one thing, and it's short-lived. Just thought I'd warn you. It's not really rated M yet, but don't worry, it's getting there. Thanks for reading and REVIEWING. ^.^ Happy belated Val's day.

______________________________________________________________________

Golf.

It was a good idea, in theory. But I never thought it would really help cheer people up. Maybe I was just bitter because I _knew_ it wouldn't cheer _me_ up. I didn't like golf. Or tennis, or badminton, or lawn bowling. Or any of those other pointless country club games. Really, it was hockey or nothing for me. And I had never been very _good_ at that, so I just avoided competitive sports altogether. When I was younger I liked gymnastics and figure skating, and had been pretty good, but over the past few years I'd gradually given that stuff up.

Anyway, golf. Hurley organized it, and nearly everyone eventually showed up to check it out. I was still half asleep by the time they all left the caves, and opted out, yawning. I liked the thought of having the caves to myself for a while. For once, I wouldn't have to trek a mile into the bug-roiling jungle to get some peace, some privacy. Ah, privacy.

I stretched out across my makeshift bed luxuriously. I hadn't had such a relaxed moment in utter isolation since we crashed here. I had to take advantage of the opportunity to relieve a little stress, of course.

I ran my hands across my slightly dusty skin, slowly and almost innocently at first, closing my eyes and trying not to let my mind wander exactly where it wanted to in this situation. I tried to focus on the soft texture of the blanket beneath my bare skin, but of course that didn't completely occupy my imagination. So I flipped through a mental catalogue of extraordinarily attractive celebrities and boys I had mild crushes on back home. Their faces refused to stay, though. I kept coming back to him. Eventually I just gave in and let him permeate my imagination, let a vague fantasy play out in my mind. I almost felt like crying through the pleasure at the thought of him. My breath came in gasps, faster and faster, until I heard something that _must_ have been a misplaced part of the fantasy. It must have been a trick of my imagination. There was no way _he_ had just called out a greeting. But then it came again. His voice.

"Is anyone here?" Confused. Surprised. Painfully lovely.

I zipped my jeans up, put my offending fingers in my mouth for a quick cleaning, and tried to slow my breathing to normal.

"Yeah . . . " I called back, stepping out of my cave to meet him in the sort of plaza. I was sure my face was still flushed, my heart still beat rapidly in excitement.

"Cammy."

"Everyone went to go play _golf_, of all things." I explained in a rush.

"Golf?"

"In a big clearing, maybe half a mile east of here. If you want to go join them, that is."

"I've never been much of a golfer." He muttered.

"Me either." I looked at my feet for what felt like forever. "How's your arm?"

"I've had worse." He shrugged, the movement causing him to wince, which gave his pain away. He smirked at that, and I joined him, half-heartedly.

"So, what brings you to the caves?" I cleared my throat, trying to dislodge the awkwardness I felt.

"Doctor Jack never showed up with my meds this morning. Now, I get it. He was too busy golfing."

"What does he have you on? Do you know the name of it?"

"Tigecycline."

I widened my eyes. "That's pretty extreme. But I guess there's a lot to worry about in a place like this."

I went over to Jack's stash of pills, which I'd organized perfectly yesterday, and crouched down amid the heavy-duty antibiotics. I ran a searching finger over many bottles before finding the right one. I briefly checked the label to see the strength.

"Okay, two of these now, one mid-afternoon, and one more tonight." I held out the bottle, but pulled it back before he could grab it. "Wait. You're not on birth control, are you?"

"I think I can drop the pill for a while." He smirked.

"Alright, then." I handed the pills to him.

"Jack's gonna be pissed right off. He's been holding these pills like he thinks he has some sort of power over me, trying to make me do what he wants."

"And has it been working?" I asked, nearly managing with a straight face.

"Shut up, Thursday." He said, smiling. "Thanks for the pills." He turned to walk away.

"Sawyer, you're supposed to have that bandage changed." I sighed.

"I'll manage by myself."

"C'mere." I muttered. He sauntered back towards me.

"Just give me some gauze and I'll do it myself."

"You'll probably fuck it up and end up losing your arm. Sit down."

"What, is Jack training you up to be his assistant, now? His little nurse?"

"Shut up and take off your shirt." I said, tearing open a fresh package of tensor bandages. We were lucky there'd been at least one soccer player on the plane.

He glared at me before obeying. I made a point of not looking at him as he stripped his shirt off and sat on a log. He unwrapped the outer bandage himself, leaving just taped-on gauze. When I had all the supplies gathered, I sat to his left with my legs on either side of the log. I tentatively reached out and peeled back the first piece of tape. Underneath, a clear tan-line showed, making me smile, amused. When I folded back the actual gauze, my smile was lost in a gasp.

"What, you don't have the stomach you thought you did?" He said, trying to lighten the awkwardness.

"No . . . " And it wasn't that. I had a strong stomach for injuries, it didn't disgust me much. I was just horrified at the wound Sawyer had been carrying around.

I fully removed the gauze. "Has Jack been putting hydrogen peroxide on it regularly?"

"Nope. Said that would prevent it from healing."

"Right, right. But he has been putting polysporin or something on it, right?"

"Yeah."

I picked up a tube and squeezed a large amount onto a cotton ball, gently dabbing at the edges of the wound. He tried not to wince.

"Sorry." I whispered, putting the cotton ball aside and picking up a many-times-folded piece of gauze. I looked over the wound a last time before pressing the gauze on and taping it in place.

"Why'd you have to get yourself stabbed, Sawyer?" quietly.

"Why do you care?"

I sighed dismissively, wrapping a fresh bandage around his arm and tying it in place.

I stood up quickly, putting everything away. Before he had a chance to put his shirt back on, I looked over him. I couldn't resist.

"You're probably the one person capable of making a stab-wound look sexy." Before I could stop myself. He furrowed his brow almost angrily, before clenching his jaw and letting out a little unserious sigh.

"Thanks for this." He stood up and turned to walk away. "I think I'm gonna check out the golf thing after all. You should, too. Everyone's there." I shrugged, not really wanting to go. "Here, don't forget these." I handed him his pills.

"See you around, Thursday." He didn't look happy about that.

"Mhm." I said. "Oh, and Sawyer?"

"Yeah?"

"No alcohol, with those, either." I grinned.

He shook his head unhappily and left.

I sank to my knees, staring at the old bandage and wondering who would change it for him tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

Writer's Note:

I'm soooo sorry for leaving this as long as I did. You know how it goes, life gets in the way. I didn't realize I had such a fanbase (yes, I know half of the comments were all from one person! I love you, number one fan!)

If anyone is left there, are you ready for some fanfiction!? WOOT!

Yeah, sorry. I'm writing the next instalment RIGHT NOW.

Uh, one other thing. I sorta decided Cammy's gonna be 15 now. Makes me feel not-so-guilty about what's to come for her on the island.

Okay, I just wrote the next chapter. Here it is. Enjoy!

Claire got attacked. Unless she was just imagining the whole thing, someone had attacked her. My mind immediately went to the most painful possible place.

_Was it him? Was it Sawyer?_

But I knew that wasn't the case. He was capable of being a jerk. An untrustworthy jerk. But he wasn't some sort of rapist or psycho-killer. No way.

And with that certainty came a different kind of fear.

Who the hell had it been?

I saw him, when I went to help bring water to the beach that morning. I nodded in his general direction on the way to the central area, but on the way back I couldn't pass by without finding out if he knew yet.

"Did you hear about Claire?" I asked bluntly.

"What about her?" I don't think he wanted to talk to me, but he wanted to know about Claire.

"She got . . . attacked, I guess. She woke up screaming in the middle of the night about how someone wanted to hurt her baby."

"Sure she's not just having a nightmare?"

"That's what Jack thinks." I answered. That made him scowl.

"And what do you think, Thursday?"

"I don't know. I guess I think someone did it." I stared at his face for a moment, because he was looking away and now was a rare opportunity for me to study his features without him noticing. Except he did. And he misinterpreted my gaze.

"You think it was _me_?" He asked angrily. "I know I've told you I'm no good, Cammy, but I wouldn't attack some unsuspecting pregnant chick, I wouldn't try to hurt a fucking baby!"

"When did you ever say you were no good?" I asked quietly.

"I'm saying it now. Stay away from me, for your own good, kid."

"Fine. I'll go back to the oh-so-safe caves you were recommending."

I took a few steps before he spoke, hesitantly. "Do you feel like you're in danger, there?"

"I'm not sure." I said truthfully. "But what option do I have? Jack's at the caves, and isn't he supposed to be the fearless leader? If I came back to the beach, who would protect me?" It was a challenge. I wanted so badly for him to say those two words. Just two words.

"You're right." He said. Wrong words. I was hoping for '_I would_.' "I don't know what's going on on this rock, but you're probably pretty safe at the caves. Just . . . don't wander off alone at night, or anything stupid like that, okay?"

"Why should you tell me what not to do? Why should you give a flying fuck about my safety, anyway?" I said, far too heatedly. What had happened to calm, detached, dignified Cammy? Okay, I'd never really been her. When he didn't answer, I left. Back to what Shannon called the rape-caves. I'd wanted so badly for this to be an excuse to come back to the beach, and I'd foolishly wanted Sawyer to step up as my new protector. What a silly, silly girl I was.

In the back of my mind, I worried about Claire's attacker. I wondered what he'd wanted with her. If he was a simple rapist, why go after the inconvenient pregnant chick?

A simple rapist. Ha. But it was true, a rapist would scare me much less. Rape was one thing to me. The unknown, the possibilities of what that person could want, were quite another.

FWOOOOO

I had to sleep sometime. I'd stayed up nearly all of last night. As though this would do any good. Being awake would give me about five seconds' advantage. No, still not an advantage.

I often wondered whether I was being absolutely ridiculous. Maybe my fears were unfounded. Yeah, there were the memories of my last trip to Australia. Those were evidence. But he'd never actually gone through with it. Because he'd never had the chance, or because he was only playing, only fooling around? The visit had been two weeks, and I'd always wondered if, had it been three weeks, or even one day longer than it was, if I'd have made it. What started as inappropriate touching or comments evolved, over my visit, into something more and more aggressive. The day before I'd left, he'd gotten close. Too close. We'd been alone in the house, and had the garage door opened loudly, heralding the arrival of my sister, a few moments later . . .

But maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wouldn't have gone through with it, not really. For six months I wondered. And then before I knew it, I was back in Australia, and I didn't have to wonder any more. I was pretty sure, from the things he whispered in my ear, that he would have, had he had five more minutes alone with me. He would have. And all the time I'd spent in relief of what didn't happen, he'd spent in regret. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice, wouldn't let the opportunity pass him by again.

Which is why I sat, unarmed and unprepared, awake on my bed in my sister's house in Australia at two in the morning. There was still a week before that blessed plane would take me back home. The question was, when I got on it, would I be whole and relieved, again? Or would I be broken and sore?

In the morning, Debbie went to her part-time job. It was Sunday, and me and Jared had the cozy little house to ourselves. Around noon, when I was sure he was in the living room, I crept downstairs and into the kitchen for some much-needed food. But he heard the fridge open, and he was instantly behind me. He put hands on my hips, gently and passively, before sharply spinning me and slamming my body into the fridge I'd closed. He took a step forward, pressing his body against mine. A hand found my chin, forcing me to look up. I glared. He smiled. My heart raced, was this it?

"Later." He said, letting me go.

FWOOOO

A long while later, on the island, I once marvelled that Kate would never have allowed anyone to treat her like that. Not for any reason, not even mine. I wasn't sure if that made her more admirable than I, or less. Maybe, if she'd had a sister, she would have done what I did. Maybe. But still, I wished I could be her.


	10. Chapter 10

That day, Claire and Charlie got _taken_. What the fuck did that mean? Taken? We were plane-crash survivors on a deserted island, how the hell could they be _kidnapped?_ And why? Okay, I could see, in a roundabout way, what someone might want with Claire. Hot, vulnerable chick. And maybe the pregnancy factored in somehow, after all, Claire has said someone wanted to hurt her baby. But what about Charlie? Why the hell would anybody want him?

They determined, using the flight manifest, that the perpetrator must have been Ethan. He was nowhere to be found, so that made sense. But I remembered Ethan. Average guy, of average build. He would've had a tough time kidnapping two people, even though Charlie seemed like somewhat of a sissy and Claire was, well, a little pregnant blonde girl.

Everyone else was accounted for, at least. So there was no way one of us could have been an accomplice. That made me rest easier, just a little, knowing that some other seemingly normal person I'd been sleeping near for weeks wasn't suddenly to be feared.

I was still scared out of my mind. Whatever quality made the attacker want Claire and Charlie, I feared that I had it, too. Easy target. Young. Blond, though that probably didn't matter, unless he was some sort of textbook serial killer.

Everyone who hadn't gone out with the search party was sitting around the caves, scared and worried, when Sawyer ran into our midst. My heart, jumpy from nerves already, kicked into high gear. Everyone looked up at him, surprised and wary. He came to an abrupt halt at their uniform gaze, but he was looking around desperately. Looking for me, I realized, when his eyes rested on me and his face relaxed.

"What are you doing here?" Someone asked him.

"Did I miss the search party?" He fabricated, much calmer now.

"Yeah, they left fifteen minutes ago. What, you're not saying you actually wanted to go with them?"

"I was gonna. Never mind." He said, turning and walking away. I got up and left the clearing, in the other direction to be inconspicuous, before looping around and hurrying to catch up with him.

"What was that about?"

"What was what about?"he replied, innocently.

"You know what."

"I heard about Charlie and Claire, okay?"

"That's not why you came."

"Then why did I come, Thursday?"

I paused, and he continued walking. I followed. "I'm fine. Ethan took Claire and Charlie, I'm fine."

"I can see that. You're perfectly okay. I think I'd know if you were kidnapped, because I'd have a moment of silence for once." He didn't fool me.

"Of course I'm okay. You shouldn't have worried."

"Worried? Honey, that's Jack's job. We both know it."

"It's to do with her pregnancy, I think. Maybe he only took Charlie because he was with her, a witness. Either way, there's no reason anyone'd hurt me."

"I can think of a few very good reasons." Sawyer said, trying to sound dark and threatening. "But I know, you're fine. You've not been kidnapped. Now will you leave me alone?"

"Why did you worry, though? Why did you think I might be in danger?"

"I didn't."

"You did."

"Alright. Fine." He pivoted, mid-step, towards me. "It was stupid. I just heard that someone'd been taken into the jungle, and they didn't know who did it, and I thought to myself, 'Cammy's a fifteen-year-old girl, she's vulnerable. An easy target. A constant annoyance. What if she's next?' And I couldn't help myself, I ran. By the time I got halfway to the caves, I knew I was being ridiculous. But I had to see your face. I had to know you were okay. Which you are, so will you leave me alone?"

He started to walk away from me, and I just stood there, speechless. Then the sky opened up and it was dark as night. He kept walking, unphased, for a bit. Then he turned on me, again.

"You know I can't leave you standing alone in the jungle in a storm when there's a kidnapper on the loose." It was an accusation, as though I'd made it rain, on purpose, and set the kidnapper loose, too. "C'mon, the beach is closer than the caves." He yelled over the downpour. I tried to walk behind him, but he didn't like having me out of his line of sight in the dark, dangerous forest.

"After you." He muttered, annoyed, and I walked in front of him. I wasn't very comfortable having my eyes off of him, either. But soon we reached the beach, the far end of the beach where his tent was set up. I was soaked by then, and gladly entered when he gestured that I should do so. The inside was bigger than it looked, but relatively dry. I sat on one of the makeshift seats, uncomfortable more mentally than physically. It was so easy to banter with him, sometimes. This wasn't one of those times.

"Here." He said, handing me a blanket to wrap around my soaked shoulders.

"Thanks."

"Are you afraid?"

I had to think about his question for a moment. I had to determine what he meant. Afraid of him, this tent, this moment, what I felt? Yes. But I realized he meant afraid of whoever had taken Claire and Charlie. "Yes."

"Are you afraid to be sleeping in the caves?"

I had to think about that, too. "Yes. That's where stuff seems to go wrong, or at least, nearby there. I don't want to go back there tonight." And night was coming. It had been evening when it started raining, maybe eight o'clock. By the time the rain stopped, I was sure it'd be dark, or nearly dark. "Hardly anybody is there, they all went out looking."

"You could stay here, if you really want. And in the morning you could set up your own tent on the beach, if you still don't want to go back to the caves." He was so reluctant, wishing he didn't have to offer what he was offering. But he couldn't send me back there tonight. Whatever he said, he _was_ good, and he couldn't do that.

"Thank you."

We sat in silence until the rain stopped, and just as I predicted, the clouds cleared to show a flaming orange sunset.

"There are some extra clothes in that suitcase, something might fit you. I'm gonna go down the beach and see if anyone's heard anything about Claire and Charlie, yet. I'll be right back. You'll be fine." He said, seeming too exhausted and irritated to bother trying to sound tough or uncaring. I nodded, and he left. I tried not to tremble the moment he left, and fought fear with reason. If the attacker came anywhere near the beach –which he probably wouldn't, he'd be too busy taking Claire and Charlie wherever he intended to take them- all he'd see was Sawyer's lone little tent. Nobody knew I was here. So, unless the Ethan or his accomplice(s) were looking to steal something from Sawyer's stash of goods, they wouldn't come anywhere near here. That didn't reassure me, much.

I rifled through the spare clothes, things I realized had belonged to people who were now dead, and I didn't care. I found a tank top, baggy sweatpants, and a hoodie. Good enough. I changed into them, and balled up my old, damp clothes, including my discarded bra and _Monday_ panties, and stuffed them in an empty plastic bag I found. Then I sat, trying not to be terrified. It reminded me so much of the nights I spent in the guest room at my sister's house, except that then, I knew what to expect. I didn't know whether my fears would come to pass or not, but at least I knew what they were. Now, sitting alone in the tent of the jackass I was starting to think I loved, I didn't know exactly what to fear.

FWOOOO

When he came, I wasn't anywhere near prepared. I'd dozed off in a sitting position, but I wasn't fully asleep. I remember watching the crack of light from the hallway's window grow, with a soft, creaking whoosh. I sat up straighter, suddenly forgetting everything I'd decided on, every certainty I'd hated but accepted, and tried to scream. Nothing came out of my mouth, but from Jared's came a "Shhhh," lost in the thumping of blood in my ears. He closed the door behind him. When I heard it click, I closed my eyes and stopped scrabbling to think of a way out of this situation.

FWOOOO

"Cammy?" Panic, then hands tearing mine from my face, forcing me to look up into his. "Cammy, are you okay?" More panic.

"Oh, God," I muttered. In an attempt at avoiding the fear of here and now, I'd slipped into a memory of a similar fear. I'd had my eyes clenched shut against an image of my sister's husband's silhouette in the darkness, and now a different face stared back at me. "I . . ." I tried to say something. I don't know what. And then I leaned forward, just a little. I never knew, after, whether I was trying to kiss him, or trying to stand up, to get away. I think I wanted to do both. But it was the former I accomplished, if badly.

My nose hit his, before we both tilted our heads to the side, instinctively. The same side, but that didn't matter, he tilted way more than me. And I put all my weight into the kiss, leaning on his shoulders and curling my hands around his neck. So when he broke it off, pushing me harshly away, I nearly tumbled backwards into the tent wall. He stared at me as I regained my balance, and I looked into my lap, biting my offending lips and trying to hold back tears.

"Don't . . . don't _do_ that." He said, still staring at me in shock.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize. It was my fault for encouraging it. Just don't do it again." Encouraging it? He'd reciprocated the kiss for maybe seven seconds. That was anything but encouraging.

"Okay. But I am. Sorry, I mean. You've been so nice, letting me stay here, and all . . . "

"Haha. Nice. Yeah, I'm Mr. Rogers." He said, settling into the chair opposite me.

"You're nice to me. Why aren't you nice to anyone else?" I worded it like a young child would, but it was a simple question.

"I'm not nice to you, Thursday. You're just defective, and somehow can't tell what mean is." I looked back down at my lap, and this time I couldn't stop the tears. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry. It's just that you're probably right. I'm probably going to end up as one of those women who always falls in love with the worst possible men, the guys who treat her like shit, and then don't realize he's an asshole for a very long time."

I knew he was burning to ask me _why_. But he didn't, and I was grateful.

"I didn't mean _you_, you know. When I said that, about being drawn to the worst guys, the assholes. No, you just want to be, but you're not that person. You're good."

"I'm not."

"Why not?"

"Cammy, do you want to know what I did back in the States?"

"Okay."

"I was a conman."

"Okay . . . " I said. That didn't sound so bad, I was waiting for more.

"Do you know what that means? It means I spent my life tricking people out of their lives' savings. I tore families apart, I broke the hearts of countless naive women."

"Oh. That's kinds bad, yeah." I admitted dully.

"And do you want to know what I did the day before I boarded this plane?" He rapped his knuckles on a piece of fuselage he'd been using as a table.

"No." I said, but only because I knew he'd tell me anyway.

"I killed an innocent man. I shot him and watched him die as I realized he wasn't the man I thought he was."

I was silent. He'd given me a lot to think about. One question was easy, it didn't require any moral stances on my part, regarding his past.

"Who's the man you thought you were killing?"

He laughed hollowly. "Now, that's a story for another day."

"Why'd you tell me all of this?" _Did you tell Kate all of this, too?_

"Because I need you to understand just why you should stay away from me." _Ah, that's why you didn't tell Kate this. You don't want _her_ to stay away._

"Hmm," was all I could say.

"I'm sorry for saying that, about you being defective. I didn't mean it, I just couldn't understand why you . . . why you have this ridiculous attraction towards me."

"I don't!" I denied instinctually, forcefully. It didn't convince anyone. "I . . . I have my reasons."

"And what on earth might those be, Thursday?" He was letting his guard drop, letting his voice come out playful, flirty, natural. I knew he didn't mean to, he didn't know he was doing it. It was like watching someone who didn't realize their fly was unzipped. I vaguely intended to take advantage of this, but I didn't plan the next words that came out of my mouth.

"The usual, Sawyer. You're sexy as fucking hell, for one. And I suppose you have the bad-boy thing going on, what with everyone hating you. And you're so candid, at times that-" I started, before he interrupted me. I was glad for it, because I feared I'd keep talking and talking and talking, unable to stop my tongue from forming mortifying words.

"Cut it out, Cammy." His walls were back up, and he spoke angrily. "You're a silly child, you don't know what you want. You don't understand what you're saying. You're being immature and impulsive and thoughtless, and I need you to stop," He said, before repeating, "I _need_ you to stop."

"Okay." We sat quietly a while longer, before a thought came to me. "Holy crap! I didn't ask you, did you hear anything about Claire and Charlie? That's the whole reason you left."

"Actually, the main reason I left was so that you could change in privacy, but yeah, I heard the latest. They . . . they found Charlie."

The way he said it terrified me. "They found him? Is he . . . is he dead?"

"He was. But Dr. Jack saved him. You should hear the way that crazy old lady, Rose, talked about it. She wasn't even there, and yet she spent a great while relaying to me the dramatic events leading to Charlie's resuscitation." I looked at him, puzzled. "They found him hanging by his neck from a tree." I gasped, and felt sick. "But Jack wouldn't give up on him, even when Kate told him it was over, he kept trying, and miraculously, Charlie took a big breath of air. And he's fine. Little hoarse, so he won't be singing any of his whiny little homo songs for a while, but he's alive." He said, before adding reluctantly, "Thank Christ, he's alive."

"And . . . and Claire?" He hadn't mentioned her first for a reason. She was dead, I knew it. They'd found her body.

"No trace of her. Charlie just keeps saying that Ethan wanted her for something, and took her somewhere."

"Oh, no." I said, secretly, shamefully relieved. Ethan was far from here, it sounded like. I would have done anything I could right then to get her and her baby 'home' safely, but still, a part of me was glad that Ethan was taking her so far away. I hated myself for it. "So, Ethan was alone? Then how'd he overpower the both of them?"

"Well, Locke says he hunted with Ethan for a while, and that the creep has some serious hunting skills. Which is weird, but I mean, Locke himself has some pretty freaky skills, and we never suspected him. Anyway, this is _Charlie_ we're talking about, and a nine-month-pregnant girl. _You_ could probably overpower them."

"Sawyer?"

"Yeah?"

"Claire is _missing_. What the _fuck_? How the hell does someone get _kidnapped_ on a deserted _island_ by . . . well, who the hell is he? How does this happen? And what the fuck are the noises in the jungle about? What the _fuck_!"

"I know, Cammy. What the fuck is right. Try and get some sleep."

"Yes, sleep. While there are crazy people out there abducting pregnant chicks, people who weren't on our plane. Sure, I'll sleep."

"It's fine. Here, you sleep over here, there's a sleeping bag for you, and I'll sleep closer to the entrance. That way, no one is getting to you without going right over me."

"Alright. Thank you. I don't care what you say or what you've done, you are nice. When you want to be."

"Trust me Cammy, I don't want to. You're one person I wish I could be most horrible to."

"Why?"

"Go to sleep." He lay down quite a distance from me, and in the opposite direction so his feet were near my head. That, and the fact that we were in two separate sleeping bags, and this was the most platonic sleeping arrangement I'd ever engaged in.

"Sawyer?"

"Yeah?"

"I can't sleep just yet."

I felt a flashlight plop into my lap, followed by what was unmistakeably a book.

"_Are You There God, it's me, Margaret?" _I asked, incredulously.

"It's a pretty good read. Go on."

And so I read half of the Judy Blume book, that night, in the dark beside the single most difficult person I'd ever known, and I forgot to fear for my life. I even forgot to feel broken.


	11. Chapter 11

Here you go, lovely fans! Um, I just realized I haven't put any disclaimers on anything so far. That's because I am J.J. Abrams! Ahahahaha! You knew it, didn't you. (for the record, I take that back)

But really, I don't think disclaimers are all-important. You guys know I'm not the real deal. Anyhoo, here I go, caving in and disclaiming for the whole story.

*disclaimdisclaim disclaimdisclaimdisclaimdisclaimdisclaimdisclaimdisclaimdisclaimdisclaim*

Thar we go.

I LOVE YOUR REVIEWS. JUST PUTTIN' THAT OUT THERE.

Enjoy!

***

The morning was, in a way, less awkward than the evening had been. My emotions had been calmed by a good night's sleep, and my fears were suppressed by the sun and the breathtaking view as I stepped out of the tent. On the other hand, I felt humiliated when I remembered last night's silly dramatic moments. I decided to pretend nothing had happened, least of all that disastrous kiss. It was a hard thing to even pretend to forget; the mere thought had my blood quickening.

"Morning." Sawyer said to me, with a friendly nod. He was sitting outside, reading as usual. I dug sleep-gunk out of my eyes and sand out of my hair, yawning. Then I heard frantic footsteps, thumping closer to us in the sand. I looked up. Jack. Crap.

"Cammy?"

"That's me." I said dryly, not quite comprehending the situation from Jack's eyes.

"Thank God." He said, leaning over, resting his hands on his knees, and breathing heavily. "Where have you _been_? We got back to the caves last night after finding Charlie, and I didn't realize that your weren't there until this morning, when everyone said they hadn't seen you at all since early last night. Of course I thought, I mean, after what happened to Claire . . . "

"OH. No, no, I was fine. It started raining, and I was far from the caves, and I didn't want to go back there anyway –you know people have taken to calling them the rape-caves, now, right?—and so I just stayed here."

He just stared at me a moment, his gaze briefly flitting to Sawyer and back.

"Uh, sorry for calling them that, I know you're really proud of finding those caves. And they're nice and all, I just don't feel safe there. Which is why I'm going to move back to the beach, at least until we know what happened with Claire, and Ethan isn't out and about anymore."

"Let me get this straight. You stayed here last night, and you're planning to move in, here."

"Well, essentially, yeah. I don't see the-" I stopped at the look forming on Jack's face.

"Cool it, Doc." Sawyer said.

"Sawyer, can I talk to you for a minute?" Jack replied, through gritted teeth.

"Good idea, I think we need to get some things cleared up, here." Sawyer stood up and followed Jack over to the treeline. Far enough that I couldn't hear most of what Jack was yelling, but I watched, anyway. My brain was still half-asleep, and I just couldn't figure out why . . . oh. It clicked in my mind, right as I saw Jack's fist fly up and hit Sawyer's face, hard. Sawyer stumbled, straightened up, and put a hand to his jaw. I couldn't hear, but I knew his words at that moment. _Son of a bitch_. And then I ran, screw decency, I ran, and screamed. "Jack! What the _fuck_, Jack! Why would you-"

"Cammy, be quiet." Jack was seething.

"You idiot! You presumptuous, controlling idiot!" I raged, turning to Sawyer briefly. When I saw that he was just fine, I swung back towards Jack. "Let me be very clear, Jack. I am not your responsibility. I am not some kid that you can order around, 'for my own good'. I will live where I want. I will sleep where I want. And I will keep whatever company I want to. And before you make assumptions, maybe you should check your facts. It was dark by the time it stopped raining, last night. I was freaked out, people were out searching for the abductees, for Christ's sake, and the caves were the last place I wanted to be. So, yeah, I slept here. Now, Sawyer here was nice enough not to kick me out into the night all alone, where Ethan could come along and grab me if he felt like it. Thank you, Sawyer, for your hospitality." I put emphasis on the last word. I took a step closer to Jack, and as I walked past him, I said in a vehement whisper, "We didn't fuck, Jack. Back off."

I didn't get very far before someone stepped out of the trees, heading towards Sawyer's tent, not watching where she was going. I nearly walked into her.

"Oh, hi Cammy." She smiled. As always, with her smiles, I felt that something was missing. She moved all the right muscles in her eyes, in her mouth, but she didn't seem happy, didn't seem to want to be here. I don't think she ever wanted to be anywhere, she wasn't happy unless she was getting away from something, from everything.

The not-quite-right smile slid right off as she picked up on the atmosphere. I turned and saw what she'd seen. Jack looking angry and dumbstruck, Sawyer just looking dumbstruck. Everything very tense, including me. I was already starting to regret my outburst, but when Jack had hit him . . . I don't know what came over me. Well, yes, yes I do know. A shameful, ridiculous, primal protectiveness. A territorial anger that felt the same as when jealousy pumped through my veins. I think Kate saw the traces of most of these things, but I thanked the Lord that she couldn't tell exactly how it'd all just played out.

"What's going on, here?"

None of us answered, like children caught doing something wrong and waiting for one among them to come forward and spill the beans. It was Jack who spoke first, though he didn't give her the truth. Not even close.

"Nothing, nothing at all."

I took that as a cue that I could leave, and I did, spinning around once to smile apologetically at Sawyer behind the others' backs. No wonder he wasn't nice more often, if it turned out to give him a sore jaw and suspicious glares. I selfishly hoped that Kate would be mad at him when he refused to tell her what she walked in on.

But I hoped she wouldn't hit him. Fucking Jack. Sawyer took far more beating on a regular basis than I was comfortable with. Especially when it was kinda sorta my fault.

***

Thanks for reading. Now, revewww? You can review anonymously, you can just say 'yay' or 'nay' or 'sausages!', it's soooo easy.

Yeah, I'll stop with the whiny writer bit. For a while. Really, love you guys.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

I set up a tent where my old one had been, as I pondered my reasons for leaving in the first place. Sawyer hadn't wanted me here. I'd been pretty upset about that, but somehow, over the course of a week and a bit, I'd forgotten. I'd been more focussed on the things he did that signalled he wanted me around. Like last night's kindness. But had that been all it was? He'd been responsible, broken away from the damned kiss, but why had he done that? Because of that ridiculous sense of responsibility I was starting to see in him? Because I was fifteen and he knew it would be way wrong? Or because he honestly wasn't attracted to me, like I was to him? He'd never shown any definite signs that he liked me. Actually, he'd always brushed me off, avoided me, told me to stay away from him. He'd shown signs that he liked _Kate_. But still, I had this dumb hope that there was more to it than me being an unwanted stalker. _Okay, maybe not a stalker_ . . . I thought, as my eyes followed him out of his tent and all the way down the beach.

I was surprised when he stopped in front of me and held out a plastic bag. My damp clothes, that I'd left in his tent.

"Thanks."

He nodded, and left.

In a fit of moodiness, wanting to be helpful or wanted or useful, somehow, I volunteered to go hunting with Locke and Boone that afternoon.

"Hey, you guys going boar-hunting?"

"You can't come!" Boone half-shouted at me in an instant. I eyed him warily.

"Uh, okay. Why?"

"You'd scare away the boar. You're not exactly a hunter, you're not trained."

"And you're a hunter? Well, then, I hope you're a much better hunter than you are a lifeguard." I spat, leaving the reference to Joanna, the girl he couldn't save, hanging in the air. I felt bad, but wasn't about to apologize.

"Cameron, I'm sorry, but we haven't been finding much anyway. We really don't need another person." Locke said, not looking up from the knife he was sharpening.

"Fine. Good luck." I said, narrowing my eyes before turning and stalking back to my tent. I went inside, closed the flaps, and tried very hard to fall asleep. I couldn't.

Nobody wanted me around. Maybe I should have been kidnapped instead of Claire. Or maybe . . . ridiculous thoughts of running away, of going after Claire, of purposely getting kidnapped ran through my mind. It seemed that nobody cared about me until I was missing.

I rolled over, ending the flow of half-formed thoughts. I was being silly, with these thoughts of ways to get attention. That's all it was, attention-seeking.

I realized that there was only one person whose attention really mattered to me, and I knew how unlikely it was that I'd get it.

I wanted to be off this island, so that I could forget about him and go back to my life. And I knew that the moment I stepped back onto the mainland, the instant the story of the plane crash survivors reached the media, I was going to have all the attention I could ever want. The thought made me simultaneously a little sick and a little happy.

__________

Thanks for reading, sorry this chapter is short, the next one'll be longer.


	13. Chapter 13

Um, I really feel like writing this chapter in present tense, so I will. Let me know what you think, if you like it I may keep going, if you don't I'll probably revert back to past. Enjoy!

_____________________________________________________________________

It all comes back to Kate.

The attention.

The drama.

My jealousy.

And Sawyer.

I believe she's the centre of the silly little universe we've established. And she pretends she doesn't know. Like how Jack likes her. A lot. At least he sort of pretends not to care about her, sometimes. Sawyer . . . well, actually, he does pretend not to care. He doesn't hide his attraction towards her, his vaguely dirty thoughts –and she pretends to be offended, while really she thrives on them- but he does pretend not to really care about her. I hold out hope that it isn't an act. When his eyes follow her across the beach every time she makes an appearance, I want to believe that they're following her perfect, supermodel's body, and not the real _Kate_. Not the girl who treats him like shit and prefers to be alone and turns out to be a vegetarian (who knew? I mean, she hunts the boar, but she won't eat it? Where the hell is she getting her protein? She's probably some sort of succubus, sustained by the souls of unwitting men. I dryly think to myself that I'll have to warn Sawyer.) and who seems to want to be mysterious, though the biggest mystery I can see in her is how she remains perfectly plucked, smooth, blemish-free and utterly hygienic on this island.

A recap of the question which consumes me one morning: Does Sawyer simply lust after her, or is he thinking about more than her ass all the time?

The jury's still out on that. Rather than wait for an answer I know I won't get, I cast about for something else to do. Something to take me out of my mental Kate-bashing, mostly. Somewhere, under layers of envy and hurt, I know she's an alright person. Mainly I'm just frustrated with how she can't choose. Two men want her so badly the whole campsite can taste it. I honestly believe that Jack would be better-suited for her. Really. But either way, why can't she show us, one way or the other, that she wants one of them? Or neither? Because she can't have both wrapped around her little finger like this forever. I hope.

And I'm back to fruit-picking. Not only is it all there is to do, it's gotten a bit more challenging. Hungry hungry hippos that we are, we've been eating a lot of fruit. The trees near camp are entirely picked clean. It's been something like four days since Claire was taken, with no sign of Ethan, so I decide to take a chance and venture into the sun-drowned midmorning jungle.

I don't see any fruit for a long time, and uncomfortably head further and further in a random direction, tying bits of bright blue cloth to mark my path. Finally I see a flash of red mango skin. About twenty feet in the air, hanging securely from its limb. I look around me, to see many more fruits. A veritable produce-section. All out of my reach. Someone from camp has already been this far, taking all the lower treasure. And I can't climb trees worth shit. How much farther will I have to go to find something I can reach? I keep walking, starting to run out of strips of string for marking my way. I hadn't expected to need to go this far.

Suddenly I spot a flash of a colour that means food to my hungry stomach. Bright yellow. Bananas. An they're low, too. Maybe fifteen feet off the ground. I spend five minutes trying to get that branch. I take ridiculous running leaps, each one seeming to bring my fingertips farther and farther away. I lose my footing after the last jump, and topple to the ground, smacking my head on a tree on my way. Son of a bitch.

I hear a muffled thunk, an exclamation of pain, and then a voice echoes my last sentiment. Then it says more, not too far from me.

"What the hell are you doing?" Definitely him.

"What the hell are _you_ doing?" Definitely Kate.

He sounds incredulous, next. "It's my knee. You practically busted my damn knee!"

What? What did she do? How? I think, by the sound of the little thunk I'd heard, that she threw something at him. Bitch!

The bitch speaks, with the nerve to sound affronted. "You're stalking me, now?"

"Stalking you? I was protecting you." I wince.

"From what? Southern perverts?" I stifle a laugh before seething silently at her. I feel as though I should leave, but I'm having a hard time figuring out which direction they're in, from me. Why is that so hard? There's a noise, obscuring my hearing . . . what is that? I can hear their words fairly well, but I don't know exactly where they are.

"Yeah, whatever. I can't believe you!" Sawyer whines.

"It's not that bad." Defensively. Does she feel bad for hurting him?

"It's my knee, I'll tell you how bad it is. What the hell you doing out here, anyway?"

"Everyone's been eating a lot. This is the only place the trees aren't picked clean."

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't be out here alone. Not after what happened . . ." I wonder what he'd think of me being out here. I don't even have the ability to throw rocks hard enough to make a person cuss and whine.

"I'm fine. I can take care of myself." Of course she can. Now leave her to it.

"Oh, of course. I don't need protection. I can take care of myself. Me Kate, me throw rock." He mocks.

"Shhhh." Kate says, suddenly.

"What? You smell blood on the wind?"

"You don't hear that?"

The sound that had been making it difficult for me to tell where they were! She hears it too. No more words, they must be either wondering about it or moving towards it. I do the latter, myself.

A goddamned waterfall. Wow. I stand there, admiring it for a moment. No way I can hear their words, now, they're fifty feet away, through thick brush, and the water is roaring. Maybe that's for the better. I smile at the scene before me. This island is really gorgeous, much as I hate it. My smile falls into the grassy bank at my feet as I see Sawyer run towards the edge of the spring, peel off his shirt, and dive in. He says something to Kate, smiling and wet. Next thing I know, she's gracefully stepping out of her jeans to reveal sleek black panties and those inexplicably hairless legs, and she's diving in after him, laughing. The last thing I see before I decide it's time to leave is Sawyer propelling himself off a rock ledge high above it all. My guess is that his knee wasn't so bad after all. What a whiner.

I feel sick. How can I keep running into them, falling into their intimate moments as though they're endless pits I can't seem to climb out of?

I manage to yank the bunch of bananas down on my way, throwing them against a tree in a three-second temper tantrum. Then I pick them up, one by one, because we're on a deserted island and you don't just waste food like that. Even if you're in desperate need of an answer nobody seems to care to find out.


	14. Chapter 14

Warning: This is a violent and possibly disturbing rape scene. If you skip this chapter, you'll won't have missed any crucial plot points or anything, things will still mostly make sense. Your own discretion, here. Still in present tense.

Chapter Fourteen

FWOOO

When he comes, I'm not anywhere near prepared. I've dozed off in a sitting position, but I'm not fully asleep. I watch the crack of light from the hallway's window grow, with a soft, creaking whoosh. I sit up straighter, suddenly forgetting everything I've decided on, every certainty I've hated but accepted, and try to scream. Nothing comes out of my mouth, but from Jared's comes a "Shhhh," lost in the thumping of blood in my ears. He closes the door behind him. When I hear it click, I close my eyes and stop scrabbling to think of a way out of this situation.

The worst part is how he strokes my hair, wipes my tears away, and laughs. I think he's drunk. Maybe. It would be better if he was, because it seems worse for someone fully in control of themselves to be capable of this, whereas a drunk would have some glimmer of an excuse to make me continue to believe in humanity. I don't smell alcohol on his breath. I don't smell anything. I hear and I feel, but I don't smell anything, don't see anything because my eyes are squeezed shut. He tries to kiss me, but I clench my lips even tighter than my legs and my eyes. He gives up trying to force my lips apart with his tongue, and this is one battle I feel I've won, even though I'm fully aware he's about to win the war.

I don't know when I started struggling again, but I am. The momentary shut down is over, but I'm still not screaming. I don't know how he knows I won't scream, but I won't. Another small victory, if I can succeed in silence.

It's all so inevitable. I've known he would do this, I knew from the moment I walked into this house a week and a half ago. Night after night of peace may have muddled my certainty, but this morning's reminder –a couple of words and a body pressed against mine in the kitchen, remember?- brought it all back. So I've been . . . maybe not prepared, exactly. But this isn't a shock.

And another inevitability is that he pries my legs apart with hard, bruising fingers. I don't feel the pressure he exerts on them, no, the only pain I feel is the scream of my muscles. I refuse to unlock them, to let them relax, until long after they're useless. Maybe I shouldn't have given up the few forms of athletics I used to have in my life, because now my legs are pathetic and flabby and begging me to let them stop. I do. That in itself feels like giving in. I guess it is. Because now he kneels between my two legs, and there's no way I can get them back to their defensive position. I realize they're shaking, hard. Grateful and apologetic to me at the same time, and mourning. I use my arms instead, trying to push him off me, though I don't know what good that would do. If I shoved him backwards, off the foot of the bed, either it'd be loud enough to bring Deb running, or he'd just get back up on me, with a vengeance. It's not just that I can't win this, it's that there is no win for me to attain. It's lose-lose. When I realize this, you'd think I'd give up. I should let him have me easily. That would mean less pain, less bruises to show for it in the morning, and it would be over faster. But I can't.

I'm like a toy car that's hit a wall, but I'm programmed to keep moving, keep sapping my battery to try and go forward, when if I had any sense I'd just stop and hope somebody comes to turn me around onto a more productive path.

So I keep pushing, and refuse to let too many tears fall. And I refuse to scream. I half-laugh, half-sob, at the thought that when all's said and done, I should be proud that I could keep quiet and take it all, just like I'd always told myself I had to. For Deb's sake.

It strikes me now, as Jared yanks and shimmies my pyjama pants down, stroking the bottoms of my thighs with his warm hands, that I shouldn't have come to Australia. Six months away from what used to be just inappropriate comments and mild touching, and I'd forgotten how terrifying this continent was on my last visit. I wanted to see my sister, I wanted to escape my house and the messy divorce it proffered, and after I got over the initial fear, I'd sort of talked myself into a belief that it would be okay. I shouldn't have lulled myself like that, shouldn't have let it happen. If I'd fought, I could have stayed away from this damned country and this house and this room and the bed I'm about to be raped on. If I'd fought. That's right, I'd had a chance to fight, and I didn't take it. Now there is no fight, no real fight. Only an empty toy car, stuck on autopilot and trying to deny the situation it faces.

I said the worst part is how he strokes my hair, wipes away my tears as though comforting me? That's not really true. You know what the worst part is. But the stroking, the murmuring, it's awful, too. He lays his big hand on the side of my head and brushes it down, over my wet cheekbone, past my ear, and around to the point of my chin. Here it's only his fingertips, and they're soft, and my chin is soft, not yet wet from tears like the rest of my face. It's all soft, for a moment, and that's when I can bring myself to look into his eyes. I spit in his face then, an act of defiance befitting a fiery girl in a movie, a starlet or a waitress from a bad end of town. Not me.

Jared's eyes harden, as do his fingertips. He pushes them, hard against my chin, until they flit off to the side. He wipes my pathetic saliva from his cheek and I can't look at him anymore.

My panties are gone and I feel cold all over. I'm getting colder and colder and I fear his hot, sweaty skin will start to stick to me, frozen and brittle as I feel.

I don't look at him at all, I don't want warning as he's about to do it. I just brace and look away, like getting a needle. I end up looking at my panties, flung across the room. Little and limp and sad looking, apologetic just like my insufficient muscles. And teal-coloured. That means Thursday, though I barely register this. This is the moment when the nurse sticks my arm with the vaccination and I by the time I turn to look, the needle is gone and just a tiny, tiny droplet oozes from my arm as if to say, _Well, that wasn't so bad,_ and I smile at her and she gives me a little pamphlet on possible side affects. Yes, this is that moment. I am ready to roll down my sleeve and smile and say thank-you to the nurse and get up and leave.

Then the pain hits me. This is the moment I know is supposed to be hardest in terms of keeping quiet. But screaming is the last thing on my mind. A hoarse little puff of air comes out of lips I long ago gave up keeping sealed.

Jared thrusts. In, out, in, out. I don't have the energy or the will to try and adjust to him or brace for each impact. I just lie there. I have felt worse pains. But somehow this isn't the same as falling off a bike and doing a face-plant into a gravel road, or fracturing my arm that time I tried to skateboard. Not exactly.

And then he's done. It didn't seem like a long time, but it doesn't really matter to me, either. The pain remains as he pulls out of me and pulls his boxers back on.

He leans back over my still, shocked form, and before I have a chance to close my gaping lips, he clasps his own over me and shoves his tongue in my mouth. One final defeat. Not only does he win the war, but nearly all the little battles, too. The only one I hold is my silence. He hasn't taken that from me. But I don't think he wanted to. This little victory does nothing to hurt him, it's all he could hope for. No, this win is hollow because it's the reason he won the war.

My silence is for my sister.

He's silent, too, as he leaves the room. I can't help but see his face, and he has a look on it that makes me want to cry. He doesn't look happy, or victorious, or guilty. He looks a though he's thinking, _Now look what you made me do._

The look makes me cry, but I'm glad of his silence. The silence of the entire house. I feel as though the slightest sound might shatter me like the cold, brittle thing I am. I reach out and pick up my underwear, but do not put them on. I'm too afraid to lift up the blanket and see or feel the mess. The blood, the semen, the nothing. I don't want to go near that nothing. It starts where the bleeding started, but I fear it might work its way up into my chest and seize me. I worry that it is a part of him, a piece of whatever made him this way. I want to give it back. I just turn to my side gingerly, keeping my hands and thoughts well above the covers, and clutch my Thursday panties to my chest.

Before sleep, I become aware that the sheets are navy blue. Good. The stains might not show.

FWOOO

________________________

Sorry for the downer, guys. Next chapter'll be a bit better, maybe. Probably.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

The tide rose far more than it should've, the day of Kate and Sawyer's frolicking at the waterfall. It rose and rose until it was not five feet away from my tent, threatening to wash my crappy little home away. I wanted to let it. It seemed only fitting. But move back to the caves? I didn't fear them, anymore. But it felt like open retreat, giving up again on Sawyer. A sad little cycle of strange hope followed by despair, ending in my moving to the caves. Again.

And then there was Jack. He hadn't spoken to me since I'd screamed at him outside Sawyer's tent a few days ago. I couldn't blame him. I felt half-ashamed of myself, half-justified. I definitely didn't want to go crawling back to him in any sense, even if it was just to live in the habitat he'd founded.

All day it ate at me, not the wanting to move to the caves, the wanting for things to be right between Jack and I. Jack was so _good_, so _safe_, so like a big brother I'd never had. And I'd brazenly disrespected him more than once. That wasn't right. I was raised better than that, disrespecting the one person who held our fragile little existence together.

I saw him on the beach, and I meant to wait and talk to him later, but before I knew it, my legs were carrying me right to him. His pace didn't slow when he saw me.

"Jack, I'm sorry."

He looked at me and did that silent thing he does, where you think he's acknowledging you, but you can't be sure. Not really a nod, just an aura of "okay . . . and?"

"You only have everybody's best interests in mind, I know that. In a way, you're right to want to protect me. I can be pretty stupid. But I'm fifteen. I need to feel like my decisions are my own, y'know?" I didn't feel like I was explaining it very well. "I'm super grateful for everything you do, for worrying about me like you do. And I feel really bad about taking that and slapping you in the face with it. It was sickeningly disrespectful and absolutely uncalled for. I'm sorry."

"Do you want to move back to the caves? Because you don't need my permission for that, Cammy. It's a free island."

I shook my head. "No, I think I'm going to stay on the beach for a while, if this tide ever goes down. I wasn't looking for permission or anything, I just don't want things to be bad between me and the one really solid person on this island. I was stupid and thoughtless and I want you to know that what you think does matter to me."

"It should. Because, Cammy, I'm going to tell you this only once. If he lays a hand on you, however much you think you may want it . . . that will be unforgivable. It won't be pretty, Cammy. Remember what lengths we –I- went to when we thought he had Shannon's medicine? Don't underestimate us –me-, Cammy."

"But, that's absolutely-"

"Reasonable. Where are you from, Cammy?"

"Seattle."

"Back in Seattle, we're talking Statutory Rape."

"Don't talk to me about rape, Jack." I said with quiet venom. I didn't want to fight with him.

He was silent a moment. "Did . . . what do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter. Let's just say that I'm happy to make decisions like this for myself, when I get the opportunity. It is a choice. Whether it's a wise choice . . ." I smiled lightly. "I don't know."

"It isn't."

"Thanks for your opinion. Not that it matters. He's not the man you think he is, Jack."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you and him aren't so different. Both of you have . . . firm morals."

"Morals? Sawyer?"

I shrugged. I didn't feel the need to convince Jack of anything. "It doesn't matter, one way or the other. Know that I can take care of myself, but I appreciate your concern. I really do." I walked away. I felt better about things between him and I, but I didn't like how much personal information I'd vaguely given up. I thought he'd probably look at me differently, now. Maybe with dishwater-coloured glasses to replace the rose. I think I preferred being thought of as poor, innocent Cammy. Jack's caring-doctor-mind was certainly already subconsciously labelling me _rape victim Cammy_, instead. Still, I'd rather he know than Sawyer, for some reason. Maybe I didn't want Sawyer seeing me as through a harsh, dirty film of sympathy, the way I bet everyone would see me if they knew.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

I've decided to keep a diary. Yeah, it's lame, and I have nothing interesting to write about, but I know for a fact that about half the people on this island keep one.

Day 22

I've been miserable for the past few days, Sawyer and Kate seem to be around eachother a lot. Something's going on between them, Maybe. Oh God, I'd better not let anyone find this notebook. Anyway, today I feel a little better. Kate and Charlie got into a little spat with Sawyer, which ended in Kate leaving his tent all disgusted-looking. Dunno what that means, but it's better than them shooting constant glances at eachother and Sawyer not once looking my way. Writing a diary is boring, I'm out. For now. Going to go find yet another mango.

It's night-time now. And Claire's back. She came stumbling back to us through the jungle, alone and with no memory of her time away. No, not just that, no memory of anything after the crash. The last thing she remembers is getting on the plane. No memory of anything but her old life in Sydney and her imminent baby. (Oh, yeah, the baby's fine)

No memory of Charlie. This makes me so sad I just want to slap her or pour cold water on her or something, maybe shake her and tell her, "This is Charlie! It's fine if you don't remember the rest of us, but this is _Charlie_! He's dedicated himself to trying to make you happy. He's spent every moment since your disappearance thinking about you, I know it! He hasn't been eating or sleeping, he's hardly spoken to anyone, because he's madly in love with you, Claire. Can't you see that this is _Charlie_?"

Of course, I won't. I won't slap her or shake her or even splash cold water on her, because she scares me so very much. She's a mess, she's been God-knows-where for over a week, and there's still the small matter of her pregnancy. You just don't slap a pregnant abduction-victim.

Really, her pregnancy scares the crap out of me in and of itself. Well, not _her_ pregnancy, just the idea.

I'd put a lot of thought into it and worried my ass off, before I got onto the plane. But it's been over three weeks since Jared, and even if . . . even if something had taken root in me, the plane crash would surely have shaken it away, right? Anyway, my period isn't due for a couple more days. I hadn't even thought about it while Claire was gone, but her protruding tummy brought old worries to the surface. Dumb worries, unfounded worries. Anyway, didn't pregnancy mean morning sickness pretty early on? I felt fine.

Silly paranoia, of course. What matters is that Claire is back, and she is going to have her baby in the relative safety of the caves, with Doctor Jack there to bring the little bundle of really bad luck (getting born on a deserted island? I have a feeling this kid's life will be off to not the best start) into the world. I'm exhausted, going to sleep.

Day 25

Today I found out exactly how long we've been on the island (yeah, I went back and labelled the last entry, it was blank before). Twenty-five days. I don't know who's been keeping track, but that's definitely how long we've been here. My last period had ended six days before I got on that plane. They're usually like clockwork. But I've been eating way differently from normal, right? And I sort of survived a plane crash, trauma could upset my regular cycle, surely. It's sure to come very soon.

Day 27

Today I woke up starving and ate a mango and cold cooked boar. Not nearly enough, I knew I'd be hungry again in ten minutes, but I didn't feel like foraging. I picked up a book and started reading.

Now I'm realizing that I'm not hungry, as I expected. Not hungry at all. Actually, I feel pretty gross.

I just spent fifteen more minutes reading, but this nausea isn't going away. Maybe I can bring myself to ask Sawyer if he has any Pepto-Bismol in his stash of goods. Probably does, but that'd be too embarrassing. I'll just ride it out. Diary-writing isn't helping matters, I'm going to try to go back to sleep. It's only like seven or eight in the morning.

I didn't get to sleep, I had to leave the tent and go throw up into the tide. It didn't help, I feel gross. Kate eyed me sympathetically, I told her I must've eaten some bad fish.

The problem isn't fish.

You know what? Fuck this. I'm done with the diary thing.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

On my twenty-eighth day on the island, I was supremely grateful for having made nice with Jack the week before. What I was about to do would be made marginally less horrible by the fact that we were on speaking terms.

Early in the morning. I wouldn't let myself procrastinate this all day, it was important. After getting up and vomiting, I felt absolutely awful but wouldn't let myself use that as an excuse. I was going to see Jack. The trek to the caves was unpleasant, but by the time I got there I felt better. Only Locke and Charlie were sitting around the fire in the middle of the area, everyone else was still asleep. I barely said good morning, and didn't slow my pace. I had to do it directly, march in there and do what I needed to do. The slightest excuse or distraction could make me fail completely. I knew Locke and Charlie exchanged puzzled looks behind my back, but I didn't care. I knew which cave was Jack's, and I pulled back the curtain on the doorway, only at the last second praying he wouldn't be naked. He wasn't. A blanket covered most of his muscular body, and the parts of him sticking out were most definitely clothed. I felt awkward about waking him up, but I was too close now to quit. I had to do this fast or I'd start crying, back out of it, break down. All I had to do was talk to him. He was a doctor, he was Jack, it would be okay.

"Jack." Loudly, but not a yell. It took a repetition for him to wake up.

"Cammy? What the-"

"I need to talk to you. You're a doctor and I need to talk to you. I'm sorry for waking you up."

He took a moment to collect himself, and sat up against a cave wall, gesturing for my to sit on the floor across from him.

"What is it, Cammy?"

I was going to start hyperventilating. I could feel it. The words had to come out in order for me to breath properly. But I couldn't start.

"I can assure you there isn't much I haven't heard, even though I'm a spinal surgeon, not exactly your average family doctor."

"You're a spinal surgeon?" I choked out. Brief relief, a distraction for a few seconds. I tried to get my breathing under control, and feared that maybe I'd have my first asthma attack in years right now.

"Yeah."

"I never knew that."

"But whatever it is, I can probably help."

"How familiar are you with pregnancy?" I blurted.

"What?"

"I mean, I know you helped Claire out, but do you really know a lot about it all?"

"Cammy, WHAT?"

"I think I might be. Knocked up, that is." I was speaking really fast, and hyperventilating after all. IT was so dark and enclosed in this cave.

"What?"

"Stop saying 'what', I need you to help me!" I cried, raising my voice more than I should. I didn't want Charlie or Locke or anyone else overhearing this.

"How pregnant?"

"If I am? Thirty-one days and about seven hours." I'd been counting the hours stupidly since I seriously began to suspect.

"When are you due?"

"In about eight months." I said. What a stupid question.

"No, no. When were you supposed to get your period?"Jack said, clearly trying to wake his brain up better. He didn't even bother trying to sugar-coat anything, now.

"About four or five days ago."

"Cammy, go back to bed."

"What?"

"You're not pregnant." He chuckled a little at me, like a parent indulging a silly child.

"But I got nauseous yesterday, and again this morning."

He sighed, clearly humouring me so that he could properly assuage my fears and go back to sleep. "You seem very sure of the date of conception of this _baby_." He said 'baby' like 'unicorn' or 'leprechaun'. "So was the sex unprotected?" No, really not bothering to sugar-coat a thing. "Because if you used a condom, the chances of you being right about this are like fifty to one."

"There wasn't one. It was, uh, unprotected as can be."

"You're irresponsible. But it's probably still nothing, Cammy. You're probably just sick from the lack of refrigeration around here, Cammy. Everyone's been getting food poisoning. You're five days late, that's nothing. Go back to the beach and calm down. Better yet, find Kate or Shannon or someone. I have no idea what the women on this island have been doing, but they must have something worked out, and that'll come in handy _when your period comes._"

"Believe me, Jack." I said, tears forming.

"Trust me, Cammy." He had already turned back over, and was half-asleep. I left the cave, ignoring John and Charlie.

The reason I was so mad was simply that I wanted to believe Jack. I wanted to see reason and hope that it was all paranoia. But I had a sick feeling deep in my gut that went beyond the morning sickness. I was right about this.

It was Jack's turn to wake me up. I'd been napping fitfully all afternoon, and one of the times I tossed and turned over, his face was there at the tent's entrance.

"You're sure it was unprotected?"

"Yes."

"How long ago did you say it was?"

"About a month."

"We've been on the island for about a month, Cammy."

"It wasn't here, no. It was right before I got on the plane." I wondered whether my comment from a week ago, about rape, was ringing through his mind.

"I'll be right back." He left. I scrambled up out of my sleeping bag after him. By the time I caught up with him he was nearly at Sawyer's tent. He wasn't going to randomly pick a fight, was he? This _would_ be random, especially since I'd just confirmed that my incident had been before the island. There's no way Jack could suspect Sawyer of anything.

He walked straight into that tent, and Sawyer was clearly inside because I immediately heard them arguing.

"What do you think you're doing, Doc?"

"I need something from your stash, and I need you to just hand it over, Sawyer."

"Why on earth would I do that?"

"This isn't some sort of macho powerplay, Sawyer. This isn't me trying to assert my authority. I don't give a fuck what you do, but I need something from your stash."

"Good to know you're the bigger man, putting aside past differences and all, but it ain't that easy, jack."

"Sawyer, I need a Goddamned pregnancy test right now."

I heard the shock in Sawyer's voice when he next spoke. "What, you late, Doc?"

"I'm not going to tell you who it's for, I just need it."

"And why can't Miss. Prego come in here and ask for it herself?"

Jack sighed heavily, I could hear it from out here. "Kate has a lot of pride, y'know."

My jaw literally dropped, and I knew Sawyer's must be, too.

"Freckles? No way."

"That's what we're trying to find out. If you'll just give me the test."

I was probably going to hyperventilate, again. This was all over me. What if Kate found out Jack used her like this? And she probably would, too.

"How . . . how pregnant we talkin', here?"

"She thinks maybe about six weeks."

"Oh, kay." Sawyer sounded so much happier with this comment. It was clear to me that either he was relieved the possible baby wasn't his –which would mean they'd had sex- or he was relieved that Kate hadn't necessarily had sex with anyone –namely Jack- while on the island, which would mean that he hadn't slept with her. My head was starting to hurt, I wanted to go back to my tent and lie down until it all went away. "Here you go. Tell her . . . " He didn't finish the sentence. I felt bad for him, mislead like this, but it was infinitely better than him knowing the truth.

Jack gave me the test once we were back at my tent, and told me to come find him when I had the result. I think he still expected it to be negative.

I made sure to follow the directions to the letter, because it wasn't likely I could get another one of these easily, and a tiny part of me wanted to prove Jack wrong. Most of me was screaming for him to be right, though.

I peed on the stick and waited exactly as long as the directions told me to.

Afterward, I wished I had a chalkboard so I could write: _times Jack's been right so far, _and then a million little tally marks. Beside it I'd write: _times he's been wrong_, and there'd be one lonely little tick commemorating me and the deep, unreasonably empty ache in my gut and in my heart.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer – the opinions expressed by characters in this story are not necessarily shared by their author.

Chapter Eighteen

"Jack?"

"Yeah? What did the test say?"

"How do I kill it?"

" . . . What?"

"How do I kill this thing?"

"Slow down. I'm sure that isn't what you want to do."

"I guess you don't know how to perform an actual abortion . . ."

"No, and that's ridiculous. We have no equipment, not enough antibiotics or painkillers . . ."

"Alright, so what are my other options?"

"Cammy, think about this. I don't know whether you're religious,"

"I'm not."

"But still, this is a human life we're talking about. Why should it pay for your mistake?" He was clearly against abortion, the self-righteous prig.

"My mistake? Human life? Jack, this is a tiny little clump of cells, and let me tell you something else. I wouldn't care if it was a fully-grown little person right now, I'd still want to kill it. It has no right to life." I spat hysterically, knowing that if I stopped to think about it, I would realize that I didn't really mean the words coming out of my mouth. So I didn't stop to think about it. "I hate the goddamned parasite and I want it OUT OF ME. I have no obligation to this thing. It isn't my fault!" Strictly, this wasn't true. I'd let it happen in order to protect my sister. In this moment I knew that if I'd known this would happen, I'd have done anything I had to, including ruining her life, in order to prevent it.

"It's not your fault?"

"Not really, no."

"Because you were raped?"

I looked down quickly. He was probably staring at me, and was silent for a while.

"By who?"

"It doesn't matter. What matters is killing the thing the bastard left in me."

"Cammy, please think about this."

"I have. I've thought long and hard, Jack. I need it dead."

"I have no idea how to make that happen," He admitted.

"Shall I go fall out of a tree a few times? Take up smoking? Do some heavy lifting? Better yet, why don't you punch me in the stomach, Jack. Go on, hit me. This thing's the size of a sea monkey, we can take it out." I was half sarcastic, half hysterical.

"Cammy, sleep on it. And I'll try to think of something. Tomorrow, we'll talk. Anyway, I'm pretty sure it isn't legal for me to help you abort your baby."

"Don't call it a baby. It's barely a fetus. It's nothing."

"Whatever. When we get back to the States, if people find out I helped you get rid of it, your parents could sue me and I could have my medical license revoked."

"Trust me, Jack, I wouldn't tell anyone. I'd be too busy killing the man who did this to me. Pregnant! Jack, I'm fifteen. That's ridiculous. That's not okay. Pregnant! This is so monumentally _wrong_."

"I know, Cammy. I'm so sorry this happened to you."

"Sorry doesn't help. I'd much rather you spend your energy on figuring out what will kill this thing."

He frowned at me and walked away. I went to my tent and sat down, prodding my stomach gently. I wanted someone to kick me right in the uterus. Every second I waited, the thing was getting bigger and bigger, cells dividing and building up. I was housing it and fuelling its creation.

_My child_, my mind thought once, but I recoiled with such painful hatred that my thoughts didn't go there again. How could I be so stupid? I should have gotten my hands on a morning-after pill, however the hell that worked.

One thing I knew for certain: I wasn't going to let this thing be born. I would never end up like Claire, huge with the thing squirming inside me. Well, not never. I might eventually have children. But not this one. If it was born I would hate it and feel like killing it. I never knew I could feel such hate. I'd hated Jared for a long time, but it was almost a past-tense thing. I hated him for what he _did_. I hated this thing for what it was trying to _do_.

Suddenly I couldn't just sit here and wait for it to grow. I stood up, determined that I had to kill it. Now. Even if it did mean falling out of trees.

The second I left my tent, the idea came to me with the blazing sunlight.

I found myself marching towards Sawyer's tent. Now I didn't care if he knew, I didn't care what he thought. I was going to kill it, no matter what it took.

"Sawyer," I called as I got close.

"What can I help you with, Thursday?"

"You have alcohol in your stash?"

"What, like rubbing alcohol?"

"No, drinking alcohol. From the plane. The stronger the better."

"What are you talking about?"

"I need alcohol, right now!"

"I have some hand sanitizer, if you're trying to disinfect a wound or something." His eyes roved over me, looking for such a wound.

"No, I'm telling you I need booze. Liquor. Moonshine. Spirits." I tried pushing past him into the tent, which of course didn't work. He laughed at me.

"Can I see some I.D., miss?"

"Shut the fuck up and give it to me. I know you have some. You have to. Please." I was panicking, understanding how poorly executed this plan was. It wasn't really a plan at all. I should have gone through his stuff while he was gone.

"You can't honestly believe I'm going to give you liquor."

"I need you to." I was absolutely pleading now, and I think this was when he realized something was wrong.

"Why, Cammy? Did something happen? 'Cause when you're a fifteen-year-old girl, drinking your troubles away isn't really advisable. Shouldn't you just go write about it in your diary?" He saw the look on my face and added, "Or you could, I d'no, tell me about it. If you really want." He rubbed his shoulder uncomfortably.

"What about nutmeg?" I said suddenly, as a lightbulb flashed over my head. I remembered reading somewhere that nutmeg was used as a natural abortifacient by some remote tribe or something.

"Nutmeg."

"Yes."

"Cammy, why the hell would I have nutmeg? People don't typically travel with suitcases full of spices."

"Can you just check, if you won't give me liquor?"

"I'm certain that I don't have any _nutmeg_, Cameron. Why don't you tell me why you're trying to get drunk and high?"

"High?"

"Well, don't stupid highschool kids try to get high off nutmeg, sometimes? I doubt it works. There are a million things on this island and in my stash that would be easier to get high from, Cammy."

"I don't want to get high."

"Then why the fuck would you want nutmeg?" He sounded exasperated, as though we were going in circles.

"I'm baking a cake!" I raged. "Fine, no nutmeg. And you won't give me alcohol, so what else do you have?"

"Gotta be a little more specific than that, Cammy."

"Drugs. Meds, I mean, not narcotics."

"Meds? For what?"

"I don't know. Strong medications. Things with lots of warnings and side effects listed on the label."

"You're not making any sense, Thursday."

"Stop calling me that!" I snapped. Normally I didn't mind, I even liked the cute nickname. But right now it kept bringing to mind unpleasant memories. People walking by were starting to stare, and I was the definition of 'making a scene'.

"Come inside, Cammy."

I stepped into the tent, and immediately cat my eyes about for anything, anything at all that could kill my baby. My eyes rested a moment on a knife. No, not _that_ desperate.

"What the hell is up, Cammy? This morning Jack comes in here, demanding I give him a . . ." His eyes went wide, then narrowed tightly, and he sat down on a rendered plane seat. "It wasn't for Kate, was it?"

I shook my head, imperceptibly glad that the jig was up and we weren't lying and bringing Kate into it anymore.

"You're a little slut, aren't ya?" he said. Water jumped to my eyes instantly. "I'm sorry. That was an awful thing to say." He kept staring at me. "I still don't understand why you wanted booze and nutmeg and meds, though . . . oh. Oh, God. You pissed on the stick and it came out positive, didn't it?"

I squeezed my eyes painfully tight, they were burning and I felt dizzy.

"Oh, fuck. Holy goddamned fuck, Cammy."

"My sentiments exactly." I muttered.

He stood up and hastened to his stash, lifting a section of floor to reveal far more goods than I'd ever imagined he had. "Alcohol won't do you any good, kid. I mean, it's not _good_ for the thing, but there's no guarantee it'll kill it." He rifled as he spoke. "You were right about meds, lots of things have 'don't use if you are pregnant or nursing' on the labels, right?" He glanced at bottle after bottle after box, throwing them all away when he didn't see those magic words. I just stood there, beyond grateful that he was doing exactly what I needed from him, what Jack refused to do; looking for something that'd do the job. Then he suddenly stopped rifling and sat back, balancing on his ankles.

"What am I doing? I can't give you some random, dangerous medication in the hopes it'll kill your . . . problem." He almost said 'baby'. "Whatever I give you might kill _you. _No, you need to talk to Jack about this. He definitely knows what he's doing more than me. Hell, I know jack-shit about inducing fucking miscarriages."

"Jack doesn't think I should get rid of it."

Sawyer's eyes narrowed even more. "What does he know? You're fifteen, you made a little mistake,"

I cut him off. "Actually . . ." did I want to tell him? No, never. "Actually, it was a pretty huge mistake."

We just looked at eachother for a moment. Finally, "Can you kick me in the stomach?" I asked, partly serious.

"Definitely not."

"Okay." The ocean crashed, as usual, back and forth. "You don't seem all that surprised."

"I am."

"Not as surprised as Jack was."

"Well, I don't think I grew up in the same neighbourhood as Jack, honey."

"That, and you always took me for a slut, didn't you?"

"No. No, when I said that, I was in shock. I didn't mean it. Trust me, Cammy, when I was fifteen I was no saint, either."

I found that easy to believe. "I think I'd like to get drunk now, even if it won't kill the . . . _parasite_."

"It's one in the afternoon, Cammy. Even I don't usually sink that low. And I'm not going to give you booze, ever. No, what you need is . . . I have no idea what you need."

"Can I just stay here, for a while?"

"I . . ."

"I don't want to be alone. If I'm alone, I'll probably do something stupid like purposely fall out of a tall tree or something." I'd seriously been considering it.

"Fine, you can stay for a while. Not like I had any plans."

I sat down and pulled my knees up to my chest, closing my eyes. I felt some degree of calm, for the first time since peeing on that stick.

"On second thought, I think I do know what you need. It won't kill anything, but it might take the edge off." He dug deep into the stash of treasure. "Close your eyes. Go on, now, close 'em." I did. The next thing I felt was something cool, light, and smooth in my hand. A smile broke out before I even opened my eyes. A chocolate bar. Caramilk. Sweet Jesus, it looked amazing, wrapped up all neatly.

"It's been under three feet of sand for a month, so it's cold, but it'll melt fast."

I looked up at him. He was clearly uncomfortable with the act of kindness. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Thursday. Nobody deserves to be fifteen and pregnant, no matter what stupid mistake led to it." I had to look back at my lap as tears formed. He thought he wasn't nice, wasn't good. He pretended to be heartless, but this, right now, was the most intense display of compassion I'd ever witnessed. I ate a square of the chocolate and held the bar out to him. He snapped a piece off and popped it in his mouth. We just sat, eating chocolate until it was gone, and then sat some more. The sense of peace didn't leave me, because I was still certain of that one truth: I would not give birth to Jared's baby. One way or another, I'd get rid of it. And Sawyer would help me however he could, and maybe Jack, too.

Deep breaths.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

I sat in the blue light from the bit of tent between me and the magnificent sunset out there. It was getting cool, and we swatted at mosquitoes.

"Sawyer?" I broke the silence for the first time in a long time. I'd just been sitting, staring at nothing in particular, and so had he. Just sitting.

"Yeah, Cammy?"

"You said you and Jack didn't grow up in the same neighbourhood. Tell me about where you grew up?"

He laughed lightly. "Guess."

"Judging by the accent, I'd have to say . . . Alaska."

"Yeah, that's me. Polar bear must've followed me here."

"Polar bear?"

"Alabama, sweetheart. I was born in this nice town called Jasper, but I moved around a lot after that."

"Why?"

"Because I was a difficult little piece of work."

" . . . what?"

"I think the longest I ever stayed with one foster family was eight months. When I was your age, fifteen."

"Foster . . . what about your parents?"

"That's a nice story, but I ain't telling it tonight."

"Okay. So where did you live when you were fifteen?"

"Athens, Georgia. Real crappy area of town, but I liked it there."

"Tenth grade?"

"Yep. Not that I actually showed up for class, much. When I did, it was mainly just to see _her_."

"Ooh, there's a _her_ in this story." I said, eyebrows raised. I didn't mind, it was before I was even born. She definitely wasn't in his life anymore.

"Emily Bauer. And she wasn't a _her_, she was an Emily." He smiled at my uncomprehending look. "I was keen on her the moment I saw her, but she was datin' some _musician_ then. Derek something. She was madly in love with him, and boy, did I ever hate him for it. But we were friends, Em and I. Probably the best friend I've ever had."

I tried to imagine a fifteen-year-old Sawyer, in love with his best friend. The thought made me smile.

"Until she came over one night, a real mess. She wouldn't explain to me what was wrong, she just kept telling me she loved me and kissing me. I was pretty damn confused, she'd always said how in love she was with Derek. And then she started sayin' how she wanted to run away with me. Get on a bus and just leave, never come back. She had me packing and everything, halfway out the door before my sense kicked in. I finally got it out of her, the reason she suddenly wanted to run away."

"She was pregnant." I echoed my mind's understanding. Now his words from before had made sense. _No one should ever have to be fifteen and pregnant._

"Yeah. And I felt terrible, like it was my fault –though I'd scarcely laid a hand on her in the eight months I'd known her, the thing was definitely Derek's- but I couldn't go with her. Tried to calm her down. She said she'd told Derek already and he'd freaked out, said he wanted nothing to do with it."

"Wow. What'd you do?"

"Told her to go home and tell her parents. She came from a good family, that girl. Bit strict, but I knew she'd be alright. Better off than she'd've been if I ran off with her." He looked down, saying the last few words with simple conviction.

"And she did? She just went home?"

"Yep. And when I tried calling the next morning, no answer. Tried going over there, but her dad answered the door and said she wasn't able to hang out. For a week this kept up, me calling and trying to go see her. And this was summer break, mind you, so I couldn't even see her in school. I did see that Derek kid, though." His voice was sinister, now.

I gulped in fear for the Derek of the past.

"Asked him if it was true, about him breaking up with Em as soon as she told him. He tried to make excuses, but he had no intention of helping her out in any way. Her family was heavy-duty religious, too, and this was the eighties. She couldn't get rid of it . . . he said he _felt bad_ about the whole thing." Sawyer's voice dripped rage. "Well, I hurt him pretty bad, I guess. He was hospitalized –don't look at me like that, Cammy, he deserved every bruise. Anyway, I'd been in a lot of fights, but this was bad, I had to go to court. The family I was staying with at that point, they were pretty cool, but that was the last straw. Before they shipped me off to stay somewhere else, I went by Em's house, to say goodbye. I think I changed my mind about running away with her, now that my life was a wreck. And I probably would have asked her if she was still game, except when I got there, there were some guys loading all the Bauers' furniture and stuff into a moving van. Told me they'd already left the state and were having their stuff shipped to them. I was gone, too, within the week, and I never heard from Emily again."

I gaped at him. "I'm so sorry! That's an awful story."

"You asked about where I grew up. Athens, Georgia and Emily Bauer was one of the most significant events of my adolescence, and you tell me it's an awful story?"

"No. It's . . . it's just not what I expected."

"What did you expect, then?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, then, Cameron, where did you grow up?"

"I was born and raised in Seattle, Washington. Before crashing here, I lived with my parents, and there's no _him_ at all in my story, at least, not a _him_ that was to me what Emily Bauer was to you. I guess my story is nowhere near as interesting as yours." I half-lied.

"Count yourself lucky." He muttered. "No _him_ at all? Really? I find that a little hard to believe, considering your, ah, current state." He nodded towards my tummy.

"What you said when I asked about your parents? That you don't want to tell me? Can I have a pass like that, too?"

"Is it really embarrassing? What, is the father a band geek or something?"

"You're way too curious."

"What can I say? You don't seem the type of girl to get knocked up in the usual way. There's gotta be a story behind it."

"There isn't."

"How far along are you?"

"Little over a month, I guess."

"So, it was in Australia?"

It seemed harmless to tell him this much, but I didn't. Just looked at him. I so wanted to open up, but not about this, not to him.

"You know what? You're right, free pass. We all get to keep secrets. Tell me about something else."

"Like what?"

"Why were you in Australia in the first place? Or is that off-limits, too?"

"I was visiting my sister. She's twenty-four, and she moved to Australia about a year ago after marrying Jared. Also, she's about four months pregnant."

"Did you not like it there? You don't sound very enthused. Do you get along well with your sister, and her husband?"

"Oh, I liked it, I guess. Didn't do much. Normally Deb would've taken me surfing and stuff, but her being pregnant we sort of just sat around the house all day. But it was nice, I missed quite a bit of school."

"But how do you get along with her, and his Jared guy?"

"That's an odd question." I hedged.

"You just have this look on your face since I brought up Australia. Like you hate the whole continent. I'm tryin' to figure out why."

"I don't. Me and my sister are pretty close, and Jared . . . Jared's alright."

"No, he's not. I can tell you're just saying that, you don't mean it."

"Fine, okay. I don't think he's good enough for her. He doesn't really respect her enough for my liking." I put every ounce of fake authenticity I had into the words, trying to get past Sawyer's damned observational skills.

Sawyer narrowed his eyes. "Alright, Cammy. Why don't you tell me about your life back in the States. All non-impregnation related. I'd just like to know, well, who you are. Don't even know your last name."

"I don't even know your first name." I countered, but smiled. "I'm Cameron Melissa Peterson. I'm fifteen years old and my birthday is in December –so I'm almost sixteen- and besides Australia, I'd never left the country in my life."

"I didn't mean for you to list off the contents of your passport, Cammy. I mean, tell me who you are."

"Uh, I'm nobody special, really."

"Beg to differ, Cammy."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Calling you what?"

"My name. What happened to Thursday?"

"You seemed pretty pissed when you told me not to call you that anymore, I thought I'd listen."

"I didn't mean it. You can call me that. Or anything you want, really. Including my name, I guess."

He paused. "You can call me James."

My eyes went wide. "That's your name?"

"Yep. James Ford."

"Then who's Sawyer?"

"Part of that long story I don't feel like telling."

"Okay. James. I never would have guessed."

"Oh yeah? What did you guess?"

"I've thought about it, but I never came up with anything."

"Sure." He smirked.

"Y'know, you're not the only one using a fake name around here." I said mysteriously.

"What are you talking about?"

"Hurley, of course."

He laughed. "Could be his last name."

"Hmm. Maybe."

"What, you think he's cleverly duping us all?"

"Probably."

Hey didn't respond for a minute

"Hey, Thursday?"

"Yeah?"

"You gonna be okay?"

"As soon as this thing is dead, I will." I said mildly.

"When we get rescued, which'll be soon, I can feel it, you can just have it aborted. Would your parents go for that?"

"They can't know. They aren't really religious or anything, they'd probably agree to an abortion, under the circumstances, but they . . . just can't know."

"What circumstances?"

"Never mind. I just need it gone before we get rescued."

"I'll help you any way I can, with that."

"Because of Emily Bauer?"

"No, because of you, Cammy." I was suddenly aware of how close we were sitting, side by side. I felt like leaning my head on his shoulder, and the next thing I knew, I was. He didn't object.

After a few minutes of sitting like that, he shifted sideways and supported my head with one hand. It felt big and soft and rough against my cheek. And then he leaned down and kissed me. My lips fell open quickly, and his tongue slid along the outside edge of my lower lip, then the upper, before moving further into my mouth. The hand that wasn't holding my face went to my hair, and I felt his fingers tangle in it and slowly he drew them down to the tips and let it all go, before starting back at the top. His breath and his hands were hot against the cool night air, and I felt my entire body quiver into the warmth. My hand found his face, his scratchy, unshaven face, and held him close to me.

He was the one to break away. This time, I didn't question it. His hand continued to absently comb my hair, and he didn't look away from my face. "I'm sorry." He murmured.

"Don't be." I responded, equally quiet. "That was exactly what I needed."

"It's wrong." He shook his head a little and then looked away. His hand fell back to his lap, leaving my hair limp.

"Didn't feel wrong."

"Maybe not for you."

That stung, a bit. "It's getting late. I should go."

He only nodded as I stood and pulled back the entrance of the tent. But as I stepped out, he spoke. "Doesn't feel wrong for me, either, Thursday. Until I stop to think about it. Until I remember that I'm old enough to be your father."

"Don't talk like that."

"It's true. But it's hard to remember, sometimes. All the time. I can't stop certain . . . thoughts from going through my head, but I can decide not to act on them."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"I know you do. I just don't know why."

I sighed. "Good night, James. And thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything. Tonight, being so . . . supportive. So nice."

"You're welcome. Good night, Cammy."

That night was colder than any I'd spent on the island so far, but I was warmed by the memory of his kiss.


	20. Chapter 20

**I think it's time for a disclaimer, in case my last one wore off. All that's mine in this story is Cammy, her past, and I guess any AU routes I take with the story, which will be happening eventually.**

**Thank you, everyone, for reading! Hope you're enjoying. **

**Oh, FYI, this chapter may be a little gross.**

**Chapter Twenty**

In the morning, it was clear to me. Sun. Who had found us a bitter equivalent of toothpaste? Who had found the eucalyptus for Shannon, thereby saving her life?

The question was; would she agree with what I was doing? I had no idea what views on abortion were like in, erm, Korea? See, I didn't even know where she was from. But she always seemed nice, even if her husband was pretty damn grouchy sometimes. Wary as I was of letting a third person in on my secret, I knew absolutely nothing about pacific island medicinal botany. There had to be something on this island that would kill the not-baby inside me. It was just a matter of finding it.

She was working in her garden, as usual, when I approached. But her husband was there as well. I frowned. They both looked up at me expectantly.

"Could I, um, talk to your wife in private?"

I doubted the words mattered, he understood my intention from body language and tone. He shrugged, smiled, and dropped the seeds he'd been planting back into their little container.

As he walked away, Sun looked at me quizzically.

"I know you can't understand me very well," I started "but I need your help. I have a problem. A medical problem. Something Jack can't help me with."

She nodded as though willing me to go on, but comprehension didn't show on her face.

I took a deep breath, wondering whether it even mattered. The words that were so hard to let slip would probably mean nothing to her. "I'm pregnant."

She gasped, She understood. Oh shit. And how'd she understand?"

"How pregnant are you?" She asked, in plain English.

"I can't believe you speak English! Why did you lie to us all this time, things would have been so much easier if-"

"My husband does not know. And if you want me to help you, you will not ever tell him or anyone else."

I nodded instantly, before the curiosity hit me. Why couldn't he know? That was pretty unusual.

"So, how pregnant are you, Cammy?" She said, and though her tone was kind I thought I caught a hint of disapproval in it.

"A little over a month."

"We've been on this island a little over a month."

"It's not. From on the island, I mean. Just before we left Sydney."

"And what do you need me for? Why can't Jack help?"

"Jack knows. But . . . he doesn't know how to get rid of it."

Her eyes bugged. "That's what you want to do?"

"I've thought about it a lot, and that's definitely what I want to do."

"Couldn't you wait until we get rescued?"

"No. I don't want to wait another day. Please, Sun, I need it gone."

She nodded curtly, but when her voice next came it was bitter and almost a little angry. She was looking down. "Sure. I have some books in my luggage on medicinal plants. I will look through them and try to find something for you. You were right to ask, I'm sure there's something on this island that will . . . take care of it."

"Sun, what's wrong? Does this . . . does it go against your beliefs?"

"I am not very religious, Cammy. But," she looked into my eyes with an almost pleading look. "I have been trying to get pregnant for a long time. And here, you have a baby you do not want. It's sad, it's wasteful, but it's your choice."

"I'm so sorry, Sun. I really do have to do this."

"Then I will help you. Whatever it is, it will probably be hard to find and might take a while to prepare, but I should have it for you by tomorrow or the day after."

"Thank you, Sun! So much."

She nodded again and ducked her head back to her garden. I turned to leave. "Cammy. I am not doing this because you deserve to have your mistakes wiped away. You have been irresponsible, and you should not get to just get rid of the problem and pretend nothing ever happened. I am doing this because my hopes of being rescued are starting to die. And this island is no place for a baby. Another baby, that is."

I nodded, tears starting to build in my eyes at her harshness. _If only you knew_, I thought, and ached to tell her how I hadn't been irresponsible, how I was the fucking victim. But Jack knowing, that was more than enough. I'd never wanted a single soul to know.

I almost skipped back to the beach, excited to tell Sawyer that a solution had come so quickly. But it was Jack I ran into. For someone who so strongly advocated for the caves, and lived there, he was at the beach a lot. I suspected it was because of Kate. I was actually grinning, and he looked at me funnily for it.

"What's got you so happy?"

"Sun!" then I realized Jack didn't know she could speak English. Shit. I'd have to be careful with her secret. "I managed to communicate to her what the problem is, and she's going to make me some crazy herbal solution!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Okay. Um, I think she knows what she's doing, and if she says she can fix your . . . problem, then I guess that's good."

"It's excellent." I beamed, before continuing my run towards the beach. I left Jack on the barely-there path, looking a bit speechless.

I hoped Sawyer would be awake, it was about eleven but he'd been known to sleep nearly all day, before. He wasn't. He was sitting outside his tent, reading a book, when I came to a sudden stop. I doubled over a bit, panting. I'd full-out ran the last bit of distance.

"Hi." He said, surprised.

"Hi!" I said back.

"What has you so . . . Jesus Christ, Cammy are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Look at your leg!"

I looked. Blood was trickling down my skin from my shorts.

"Holy crap."

"Is that your . . ." he was cut off as the bleeding increased. Definitely not period-current flow.

"It's the baby. Fetus. Something's wrong with it."

"You stay here, I'm going to get Jack."

"I just saw him, on the path towards the cave."

As Sawyer ran off, I sat down in the sand. "Oh my god, oh my god, what's wrong?" I said to my tummy. Then I caught myself. This was exactly what I wanted. Didn't this mean it might've miscarried? That I might be rid of it? But I couldn't be happy at those thoughts, all I could do was sit there and rock back and forth a bit, and wait.

They crashed through the trees quickly, Jack immediately running over to me.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine. A little nauseous, maybe a little light-headed. But fine, mostly."

I half-expected him to pull out a stethoscope and listen to my heartbeat. All he did was sit back on the balls of his feet and look at me.

"You're going to want supplies. Pads, that is."

"I think there're some in the stash. Maybe." Sawyer went off to rummage.

"Jack? What's happening to me?"

"I think you just miscarried. But I can't be sure. Women bleed during pregnancy sometimes and it doesn't necessarily mean the fetus is dead."

"But, probably?"

"When it's early like this . . . probably. Yeah. Did you have morning sickness today?"

"Yes."

He paused. "Cammy, did you do something? Something stupid that might have brought this about?"

"No. Nothing. I got up, puked, talked to Sun, and came straight here."

"About that, why here?"

"What?"

"When Sawyer came to get me, he said 'It's Cammy. Something's wrong with the pregnancy.' He knew, Cammy. Why'd you tell him?"

"Because I thought he might have something in his stash that'd kill it."

Jack glared at me as Sawyer returned, unopened box of maxipads in hand. I felt my cheeks heat up as he dropped them in the sand beside me. The two men just sat there, looking at me, for a while. "I feel okay. This is a good thing."

Jack nodded, Sawyer was still. "Jack? What . . . what happens now?" I asked quietly

He didn't reply for a minute. "Cammy, you should know that right now, the fetus isn't even as big as you pinkie fingernail."

"Finger_nail_?" I looked at my pinkie. "That's really small."

"Yep. Over the next few days, the placenta will work its way out. You'll barely notice it. Whatever you do, don't try to look for the fetus, okay? It's just a couple of cells, it's nothing. Treat the next week like a normal period."

I wondered if that was possible, before nodding. Then I got up, gingerly, and went over to my tent. There weren't many people on the beach today, they were at the latest golf tournament. I grabbed some fresh clothes and stuffed the pads into a backpack, before heading towards the caves yet again.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." I called to Sawyer and Jack, who might have been in conversation, I wasn't sure.

"Wait!" Jack called back, and he and Sawyer exchanged a few more words, before Sawyer jogged over to me.

"Doc says you shouldn't be alone, especially trekking through the jungle. You might pass out or somethin'."

"So you're coming with me?" I asked, a bit shy, still embarrassed over my feminine medical condition.

"Yep. You could probably use the company, anyway."

"Yeah, I guess so."We started walking. "Thanks. You're right, I don't want to be alone."

"Because you're scared of bleeding to death, or because you're afraid of having to think about what just happened? What probably happened."

"Both. I can't believe . . . it just died. I didn't have to do anything at all, it just gave up."

"Maybe it could feel how much you hated it, how much you wanted it gone." Sawyer offered.

"Oh my God." I said, tears suddenly dropping from my eyes. "Do you think so?"

"Honey, remember, you did hate it. This is good."

"It was just an innocent little clump of cells! Wasn't its fault its father was a bastard! All it wanted was for me to be its mother, and I hated it and willed it away until it gave up and died." I was nearly hysterical, now, having a hard time walking and breathing steadily.

"Whoa, whoa, no. Cammy, no. That's bullshit, I'm sorry I said it. It happens a lot, Cammy. To women who love what's growing inside them and would do anything to protect it. It doesn't matter that you hated it, it wouldn't have made it under any circumstances. Maybe part of the problem is that you're too young, your body isn't ready to mother anything. Or maybe it's the crappy island diet. Maybe the fetus didn't like mangoes. It could be any number of things, but it's not your fault."

I nodded, putting my hands on my hips and trying to calm down. I tried to listen to his words and breathe steadily, but my chest was constricting. I managed to take the few steps to sit on a fallen log.

"Cammy? You alright?" Sawyer asked, looking terrified.

"Asthma."

"What? Like Shannon? I didn't know . . . "

"It didn't matter, I haven't had an attack in years."

"You don't have medicine for it, then?"

"Don't you think" –deep, wheezing breath- "I would have given it to her when she needed it?"

"Okay, then, the eucalyptus Sun found."

"There's lots of it" –wheeze- "at the caves. Too far."

"I'll go and get some."

"No. Stay." I said with such force that he instantly sat down beside me.

"What can I do?" He asked.

"Talk to me." I slid my butt off the log onto the ground, so that I was leaning against the mossy wood. I put my head in my hands and breathed.

"About what?"

"Anything. About Emily Bauer, about where you went after Athens, Georgia, anything."

"Okay, uh," scared. "After Athens I went to New Orleans, actually. I was there about three or four months, the family was alright. But then I turned sixteen, and booked it. Never talked to another social services worker again. It was easy to avoid them, I just moved around a lot. And learned how to be a conman."

I could do this, I knew I could. I forced the tears to dry up and concentrated on his words.

"At first I was determined to find Emily, and I probably could have, but by the time I was seventeen, another obsession completely took me over. Finding Sawyer."

I didn't acknowledge that I was listening, I hoped he'd continue, and explain.

"When I was six years old, a conman goin' by the name of Sawyer came and charmed my mother, tricked her into givin' him nearly all my daddy's money. When good ol' dad found out about it all, he took a shotgun and-" he looked at me. "Sorry, this story's probably a bit too exciting. You're trying to get a grip, this can't be helping." He was in a panic, speaking quickly and not looking away from me.

"No, it's fine. Tell me more. Please."

"Alright. So, my father killed my mom and then himself, leaving me in the hands of the wonderful foster system, with only a name. Sawyer. And if we flash forward to when I was seventeen, well, finding him and killing him was all I could think about."

My chest was loosening up, and though blood was starting to trickle down my leg again, I was calming down. "Did you find him?"

"I spent eighteen years tryin' sweetheart. Of course, I made a fair bit of money as well, conned a lotta people. And after years of no new leads, when it seemed I'd never find this guy, what I thought was a reliable source told me to go to Australia. Gave me a real name and told me where to find him. And I went there and I shot him. And as he was dying, he told me he had no idea who I was. I'd been conned into killing him, because my source back in the states wanted him dead. So, Cammy, no. I never did find him. But as soon as we get back to the States, I'm picking up where I left off."

My breathing was under control now, but I feared that opening my eyes or trying to stand would relapse me back into the asthma attack. I could talk, though. "Eighteen years. You started when you were seventeen." I paused to regain even breath. "You're old. You're thirty-five."

He chuckled. "Yes, darlin' yes I am. That's what I been trin' to tell you!"

"I don't care. It doesn't matter." I paused. "And that was another really sad story. You should be one emo motherfucker by now, with a life like that." I said honestly.

He burst out laughing. "Something tells me your life so far hasn't been all ponies and daffodils, Thursday."

That sobered me up. "No, I guess not."

"Tell me about it. We'll compare sob stories and be emo together."

"My story isn't nearly as sad as yours."

"I still want to hear it."

I grimaced. "All of it?"

"Al of it."

So I told him.

*********

**Don't worry, that isn't a summary. Next chapter she tells him everything. Some things we know already, some things we don't.**

**Please review! Tell me what you liked, what you didn't, what I should do differently next chapter, anything! I listened to you guys on the past-tense-versus-present-tense thing! I live on reviews. **

**Hope the brief medical stuff didn't squick you out too badly! I'm trying to minimize it and do it as tactfully (un-squickfully) as possible.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Sorry it's been so long! I just haven't been **_**in the zone**_** for writing, ya'know? But I'm back now, with the chapter you've all been waiting for! Er, the chapter you've all probably given up hope of ever seeing. Feel free to not review it. I don't deserve reviews, after abandoning you guys so long =( Just read it, and hopefully enjoy it!**

Chapter 21

Deep breath. "My sister, Debbie. Deborah. Sweet, lovable Deb. Nine years older than me. Which means that I was only about seven when she started getting into trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"The usual. Started out as drinking, staying out too late with friends. Then she started smoking, and my dad put his foot down about that. Told her, if she didn't straighten up and fly right, she couldn't live under his roof. So she left. Lived on the couches of various friends, guys she'd just met, all that. I was ten or eleven by the time I understood what was going on. Right around the time she officially became a crackwhore. She was in deep. My parents barely spoke to her, but I remember she came to Easter dinner one year, and my mother took one look at her and burst into tears. And I remember Deb saying, that day, that she wanted out. Wanted to change."

I paused for breath. The attack was definitely over, and my chest felt fine. I was still bleeding, but I didn't worry about that.

"She did, didn't she? She got married and moved to Australia?" Sawyer asked, engrossed in the story. I glanced at him. Anxiety filled his eyes, which were torn between the trickle of blood down my leg and my face as I retold the dysfunction of my childhood.

"Yeah. My parents helped her out, got her into rehab. She did okay for a while, but she couldn't stick with it. She relapsed, and though she wasn't whoring anymore, as far as I know, she fell pretty hard back into the drugs. And then she met Jared." His name came out with difficulty, reminding me of the part of my story I had to get to, eventually, the part that was much harder to tell. "He was an addict, too, but less hardcore. He had a house, left over from a divorce. My parents were even more worried when she started dating him, thought that she wouldn't have any motivation to get clean, now. But somehow he convinced her to get into a program. He kicked it, too. It didn't make sense. When users get together, they're supposed to be worse. Her chances of getting clean should have been halved. And yet she did it. Both of them did. It's a story they like to tell, they get all teary-eyed and they talk about how they were eachother's salvation. I've heard her say, so many times, that Jared saved her life. Six months after meeting him, she was clean. Quit smoking and everything. She doesn't even drink anymore, didn't even before she got pregnant. She took some courses and got a decent job as a receptionist or something. She and Jared got married, and she was so happy, for a while. But her old friends kept coming around, and Jared's, too. They said they were too close to their old lifestyle, and it was all too tempting."

"So they moved to Australia."

"Yep. Just up and left. They both found work there, and they really got into the whole Surf scene. They were always rock-climbing and stuff, too. Never a dull moment. And then, great news! She's pregnant. At just the right time in her life, too. Not such a good time in _my_ life, coincidentally." I sighed. "That was right around the time when my parents' fighting started getting worse. My sister was no longer a hooker, so I guess the family needed some other source of dysfunction. My parents have always been great, mind you. I don't know how my sister went so wrong. My mom's a nurse, my dad's a supervisor for some big company, and with my sister out of the picture, the three of us were a happy white-picket-fence family, pretty much. Then they just started fighting. Over everything, over nothing. The way most divorces happen, right? That was just a few months ago. It got worse and worse to the point where they were screaming every night and my grades started to fail; I guess I was sort of a basket case myself. So, when they'd finally decided my dad was moving out, they thought I should go visit Deb for a while. Nice, stable, Deborah and her _salvation_, her equally-safe husband Jared."

Sawyer shivered. He knew what was coming. Maybe not consciously, maybe his mind hadn't quite connected the dots yet, but on some level, he knew. The bitterness in my voice, the lack of any other viable path . . . he didn't dare interrupt.

"I'd been to visit them before. About six months before. And . . . suffice it to say I didn't want to go back."

"No, that does not _suffice_. What happened, Cammy?" Sawyer said, his voice low and terrified.

"Oh, nothing, really. Nothing much. Jared had always been a bit inappropriate with me, at first I figured he was just being flirty. But it started getting on my nerves, creeping me out a bit. I started telling him to knock it off, but that just made him . . . more persistent. But it was all just talk, at first. By the end of my trip, though, he was starting to get physical when we were alone. A bit grabby, a bit rough."

Sawyer opened his mouth, but I cut him off. "I didn't tell anyone, no. I didn't tell Deb because by that time I only had a few days left in Australia and I didn't want to cause any trouble. I knew she wouldn't tolerate it at all, if she knew. She'd leave him in a heartbeat. But . . . while he was so awful to me, he was so good to her. He was sweet and supportive and they were so excited about their baby. I couldn't ruin that. You have to understand, Sawyer, I just couldn't."

He nodded, though he didn't look too convinced.

"So I went home and it was all good and I started to wonder if I'd maybe imagined it all. Everyone loved Jared. My parents were so grateful, he was the angel that'd saved their daughter. Everyone had forgotten that he was an addict, too, to begin with. I think I was starting to forget that, too. So when the issues between my parents came to a head and Deb called me, saying she already bought my plane ticket . . . I didn't want to go, but I did. I went back to Australia, back to where he was."

Sawyer shook his head at my stupidity, looking down. "You're so stupid . . . and brave. And stupid." He repeated, and I half-shrugged half-nodded.

"Anyway, as soon as I got there I realized that none of it was in my imagination, it was all . . . real. I knew what was coming. I thought about telling Deb, but I just . . . couldn't. And then, well, it happened."

"It happened." Sawyer repeated, half-incredulous.

"Yeah."

"Jesus Christ, Cammy!"

"Yeah."

"So, the . . . " he looked down at my stomach, at the light bleeding around my legs.

"Was his. I'd never been with anybody else."

His eyes flew wide. "Your first time was . . ."

"Yeah."

"Oh my God, Cammy."

"Yeah." I was repeating that word, nodding furiously, but it only held the tears back so long. It felt so good to tell him, and so very bad. I hadn't wanted to. And now he knew. He'd be all sympathetic, but he was really disgusted. How could he not be? Not only had I been defiled by some trailer-trash loser, but I'd had his child growing in me for a whole month. I was in the process of bleeding those sick cells out. I wouldn't go anywhere near me, if I was him.

And he didn't. He moved his arm as though to embrace me, but stopped. Dropped his hands to his lap. Was completely stationary. I wanted to get up and walk away from him, but I couldn't. We just sat there, and I knew he wanted to shift away from me, stay far away from me as though I were contagious. I would have cried harder at this, but I felt trapped by his gaze.

"Cammy. Cameron. It's okay. It's all going to be okay. He's never going to touch you again. I won't let him."

Sniffle. "What do you mean, _you_ won't let him? Even if we do get rescued, you're certainly never going to meet him."

"I'll do one better. As soon as we get off this rock, Cammy, I'm going to kill that son of a bitch."

I blinked, looked at him. "That's a bit extreme."

"You're unbelievable. Most people in your situation would be eager to see him dead."

"No. No, no, no. That's why I didn't tell anybody. Why I didn't tell Deb. I don't want him dead. I don't want him to go to jail. Because if he goes away, Debbie's going to fall back into her old life, I just know it. I know he's a monster, but he's good to her, and she needs him. I can't see my sister back on the streets."

"You'd rather her be with a rapist?"

"Yes. Because he's good to her. God knows why, but he loves her. He's a different person with me, it's like a switch is flipped."

"Let me ask you a different question, then. The baby Debbie's carrying. That's Jared's son or daughter. Do you really want a child to grow up with him as its father?"

"He'll be a good dad, really. He'll be like he is with Debbie."

"You don't know that. You've seen his true colors. I wouldn't be surprised if, after the novelty of his new wife wears off, he starts treating her differently. And that goes for their unborn child, too. What if it's a girl, Cammy-"

"He wouldn't!"

"Who knows where he'd draw the line. IF he's capable of raping his fifteen-year-old sister-in-law . . ."

"But, but . . . " the tears poured more strongly now, as Sawyer challenged me, made me question my plan of action. He was right, I knew he was right. But I didn't know what I could do. If I got rid of Jared, Debbie would be a mess. If I didn't, I was risking that baby's future. Suddenly it felt like the weight of the world rested on me.

"I'm sorry. Calm down, Cammy. You can't do anything about it from this island. There's no point worrying. You're safe now, there's nothing to be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid. I'm . . . I just wish he hadn't done this to me."

"Well, yeah. I wish he hadn't, too. You didn't deserve that."

"No, not the actual . . . incident. I mean, I wish he hadn't . . . defiled me like this. Nobody could ever want me, now." I forced myself to look up at him. "That's why I didn't want to tell you. Already, I can feel the change. Forget attraction, I can feel the revulsion. I don't blame you . . ."

"Cammy, you got it all wrong. I'm not attracted to you right now, no. I've been trying not to be, I always have to try, except now. Now I can't help but see you . . . differently."

"Exactly."

"No, hear me out. Before, you were a cute girl who I knew I should stay away from. Now you're . . . I can't help but have a different respect for you. I always knew you were too good for me, but now . . ."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Yeah, it does. I can't exactly explain how, though."

"That's why you don't want to touch me, be near me." I said, coldly.

"Partly. And partly because . . ." he gently picked up my hand and tangled his fingers in my own. "I was afraid of scaring you, hurting you. After what he did . . . I feel like a monster for all the times I've touched you. We kissed. And maybe you didn't always want me to, and-"

He was starting to babble, so I cut him off. "No. You've never touched me when I didn't want you to. You know I always want more from you. And I kissed _you_. You've never made me feel anything but safe. You could never scare me."

Dumbstruck for a minute, then he smiled wide. "Good." He grabbed me in a huge hug, tucking my head into his chest. Stroked my hair, over and over again. He was so warm. I had to pull away quickly, though, and his arms loosened instantly, making a point of not restricting me. "What is it?"

"Nothing, I just . . . I don't want to bleed on you. Bit gross."

He laughed and rubbed a thumb over my cheekbone. I sighed and smiled wide.

"What's got you so happy all of a sudden?" he asked.

"It's stupid."

"Tell me." a request.

"When you touch my hair, hold my face . . . any time you touch me, really, it makes me think of _him_."

"What?" He pulled away sharply. "That's not a good thing, and you just said-"

"Let me finish. Whenever you touch me in a place he did, I feel . . . triumphant. Like I'm beating him. He stroked my hair, when he raped me, and it pissed me off, and now you are, and it's like I get to tell him, 'look what I'm doing. Someone is touching me because I want them to.' It's hard to explain."

"I think I get it." A pause. "Did he kiss you?" I nodded, refusing to think about it. Suddenly Sawyer leaned onto me and planted his lips on mine. So soft, so slow, so warm. My tongue reached out to his, and when they touched it was all so soft and pink like good-quality bubblegum. This kiss was such a light, feminine, beautiful thing that I couldn't believe it came from Sawyer. I almost laughed at that thought, but would rather continue kissing. His arms were around me again and I felt the stubble of facial hair occasionally, trying to scratch me, but his lips were smooth and it was all so delicate that I had a sudden urge for something harsh, so I bit his lower lip. Not too hard, just enough to release some of the tension that came with the ethereal, fluid kiss. He laughed a bit, and I felt the vibration from his chest and throat resonate through me like heavy bass at a school dance. My eyes were still closed when he pulled away, so I wasn't expecting him to pull me into his chest again. His chin rested atop my head, and if the kiss felt like steam, now my breath really was steam against his shirt. So warm. I was certain that I would always look back on this as the best kiss of my life. When it became difficult to breathe and I pulled away, the jungle air hitting my face actually felt cool in comparison. Refreshing.

"Shower time."

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**Posting another right now ---- **

**=)**


	22. Chapter 22

**Here's another one! Double chapter! See how I'm sucking up to you guys? Let me know what you want to see next. Like I said, I'm not going very AU, at least not yet. Which means there's a raft in Sawyer's immediate future, no? Trying to follow the timeline, even though Cammy's, erm, medical issues kind of took front burner and I ignored regular island goings-on that should happen right around now . . . but back on track, soon. I think you'll like it.**

Chapter 22

I didn't really look forward to my island showers. They were ice cold, but at least the pressure was nice. I never even attempted to wash my hair, as cold water is useless for rinsing. I pretty much kept my head out of the spray altogether, as the cold water made my brain ache. Detailed washing (anything involving soap or shampoo) was done in the ocean. The saltwater didn't make my hair crusty, though. Somehow, conditioning and rinsing with saltwater left my hair even softer than freshwater did.

Anyway, after Sawyer walked with me to the caves, my shower was short. I rinsed the blood from my legs and pulled on fresh underwear with a pad, before leaving the closed-off shower area and coming back into the main plaza area, where a few people sat around a fire, eating a midday meal. They'd all looked up when Sawyer and I walked in together, but kept their gossip quiet. Now I sat with them, towelling my hair, and ate some boar. I wasn't very hungry, but some protein would probably do me good. Sawyer seemed a bit uncomfortable, this close to so many people who mostly kind of hated him, and we left in a bit of a hurry, trying not to be impolite.

"How do you feel?" He asked me as we left the cave-folk behind.

"Alright. A bit of cramping started a few minutes ago, but nothing too debilitating."

"So you'll make it back to the beach?"

"Yes, Sawyer, I can walk." Couldn't help but laugh, he was so over-worried. He walked close on my heels like a loyal golden retriever, and if I'd been in an irritable mood it would have bugged me. But something else was bugging me, nagging at my mind.

"Sawyer?" I loved how his name rolled out of my mouth. The combination of letters turned even my slight Northwestern accent into a delicious drawl, though nothing like his own.

"Yeah?"

"Earlier, you said . . ." My face grew hot quickly. "that you've been trying not to be attracted to me."

"Yeah, I did." Suddenly he had his defensive growly voice on, which intimidated me into pausing.

"Um, what did you mean . . . by that?"

"I woulda thought that was pretty obvious."

I thought about it. "I'm fifteen."

He laughed hollowly. "Yes. Yes, you are."

"That's why?"

"Yeah."

"But if I wasn't . . ."

"We'd see."

"Okay." We continued trudging through the jungle. "But you kissed me."

"I had to. Shouldn'ta done it. But I had to."

"Why?"

"I needed to show you how I felt."

"How you're not supposed to feel because I'm fifteen."

"Yeah. I mean, no. It's just, you're not any less desirable now, to me, because of what you told me."

"And that's the only reason you kissed me."

"If you're gonna analyze everything afterwards, it sort of ruins it."

"You make it sound like it wasn't a one-time thing."

"It was."

"Because I'm fifteen."

"Yeah."

"Fair enough. Sort of."

"Yeah."

The beach was awfully far away. Further than usual. This walk went on forever, and eventually my next question forced its way out.

"Where does she come into all of this?"

"She who?"

"Guess indefinite pronouns don't really work when I'm the only one who knows who I'm talking about . . . " I muttered. He waited. "Kate, I mean."

"Ah. Kate."

"Yes. Her."

"Don't sound so bitter, Thursday. Someone'd think you're plotting her murder."

"No. She's okay, I guess. I just wanted to know . . . how you feel about her."

"Maybe that's my business."

"Okay. You don't have to tell me."

He sighed, knowing full well that he really did have to tell me. "Kate's hot."

I laughed nervously. "Yeah. I guess she is."

"Kate's not a minor."

"You don't _know_ that." I joked half-heartedly.

"D'you see what I'm gettin' at, here?"

"Not really."

"Kate's a very attractive adult woman. She's where my attention should be."

"Should be? But . . . is it?"

He sighed. "I've been doing everything I can to get in her pants, Cammy. It's a genuine effort, I'm not fakin' nothing."

"Oh." Little bit disillusioning. "Okay."

"She's safe. I'm supposed to want _her_." He said, sounding pained.

"Okay."

"And I do." Decisive. Firm. Trying to convince himself. "I do. It doesn't matter anyway, as she doesn't like me." I snorted; he looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"You're blind."

"Not too blind to see how much attention she pays to Jack."

"Ah, that's Kate's problem. She does like Jack. And Jack . . . Jack likes her. But She also likes you. And Jack knows this. And Jack _really_ doesn't like you. So he's having a hard time liking her. Jack has this whole pride thing going on, not like you."

"What do you mean, not like me?"

"You're willing to do anything to get into her pants. He could probably have her whenever he wants, but he's waiting for it to be on his terms. He won't fuck he while she's thinking about you. Which she is, a lot."

"Aren't you insightful."

"It's easy to see. Everyone one the island knows all about it. They just don't care, so they don't pay as much attention as me." I was being a bit more candid than I'd like to be.

"Because you _do_ care."

"I shouldn't."

"No."

A few more steps in silence. "You're talkative. For the first few weeks on the island, I thought you were a man of few words, but once I get you going, you're a real chatterbox."

"_I'm_ a chatterbox. Yeah, okay. Then what does that make you?"

"A chatter . . . crate?" I attempted. He laughed. "But I always knew I talked a lot. You're just full of surprises."

"Am I?"

"Yes. You're entirely unpredictable."

"And you're not?" he countered.

"I don't think so."

"Yes, you are."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I mean, turning out to be pregnant like that? That was a sharp left. I didn't even see it coming myself." I wasn't sure whether I was joking around.

"I didn't mean that . . ."

"And then the father ends up being my sister's husband, who raped me. Another unpredictable twist." Definitely not joking around. I didn't know where this was coming from. "But the wackiest thing I've done? Falling in love with a man twice my age who refuses to entertain the thought of – oh, look, the beach. Goodbye, Sawyer." And I stormed off. All the while thinking to myself, 'wow. What is wrong with me?'

I got to my tent and went inside and gripped my stuffed platypus tight, hating myself. Not only had I unreasonably gotten all bitchy for no reason, but I'd just told him I loved him. Wait, what? No, I didn't. I hadn't discussed that with myself recently, and the previous consensus had been that no, I didn't. So where did that come from? The worst bit was that I knew it was true, I just couldn't remember deciding on it. I hadn't. It'd just appeared at the tip of my tongue from God-knows-where and now it rested somewhere in my gray matter, unshakable. I'd thought so, before. Right around the time Sayid and Jack had tortured him. I'd been all full of angst and heartbreak and etcetera, etcetera. But that had passed, leaving a realistic surety that I was only attracted to him, that it was only hormones. And with the whole pregnancy thing, love had been the last thing on my mind. I guess that was the perfect opportunity for it to sneak in and get comfy. I mentally poked at it. It wasn't going anywhere. IT was real. I loved him.

Fuck.

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**Thanks for reading.**


	23. Chapter 23

**To all you readers, especially those of you who've commented –MWAH! **

**And I'm very sorry for the hiatus. Summer –spring, too, come to think of it- has been absolutely batshit insane so far. But here are two decent-lengthed chapters to make up for it! Hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 23

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about yesterday. I'm so sorry. You were so . . . " I made a gesture like I was weighing two watermelons, in reality trying to find the right words. "And I was so . . . " I made another gesture like crunching painfully on a jawbreaker while curling my fingers to frustrated claws. "And it wasn't right and I'm really really sorry."

I probably should have went over this conversation at least once in my head beforehand. Maybe it would've gone a bit smoother.

Sawyer just laughed, pulling me through the doorway and into his tent, into a hug. "I've been worrying about you."

"I talked to you less than twenty-four hours ago. Why would you worry? I've been right over there." I pointed vaguely towards my tent, fifty yards away.

"I know. But after everything that's happened in the past few days . . . everything you told me yesterday . . . I was just worried. You've got a lot to deal with, and you're only fifteen. I'm amazed at how strong you are, how well you handle everythin'."

"Uh, thanks. I'm okay. Really. I've actually been more freaked out about . . . what I said yesterday."

"What, about what happened in Australia? I thought I told you," he rubbed his hands across my back, pulling me tight to him. "That I don't think worse of you. That I think you're fantastic. And you know I won't tell anyone. Never."

I felt overwhelmed. "No, I meant . . . something I said later. Kind of the last thing I said to you yesterday."

"No, no, it's fine. I get it. It's perfectly reasonable for you to be a bit emotional right now. God, you have every right to be ripping people's heads off and eating their still-beating hearts and stuff. And that's only the situation, not even considering the hormones that must be racing through your body right now."

"Eating still-beating hearts?" I repeated, a bit confused. "I meant . . . one of the things I said, about . . ." _About how I love you_. "Never mind. I'm glad to see you're in a good mood."

And he was. He was cheerful and warm and affectionate. And touching me. Holding me. Intimately.

"I just . . ." he sighed. "I'm glad you're okay. Jack wouldn't tell me whether . . . are you sure, now? That it's all . . . over?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure. I don't know why, I don't know how, but I miscarried."

"Good. I mean, not to be insensitive, but that's really good, right?"

I sighed. "Yes. Definitely. It might just take me a while to get over it fully, y'know?"

"Well . . . while you get over it, d'you want to hang out here? With me? I found s'more luggage way down that way," he pointed vaguely down the beach. "And I was gonna organize it, see if there's anything good."

"Shouldn't you see if it belongs to anybody, first?" I had to ask.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine." He left the tent and strode a good distance into the little encampment. I watched him from the tent-flap. "Is there a Darrel Bowman anywhere? Anyone know if there's a Darrel on the island? Not at the caves, either? Alright, then, guess he's dead." And he was back, with a 'there you go' expression as though he'd just sawn off his own arm at my request.

"Thank you. Sorry, I can't help being decent."

"I noticed." He grumbled, before a smirk spread onto his face. "It's part of what makes you so sweet and insufferable."

I looked down, probably blushing. "Well, you know what I think? I think you don't mind decency so much yourself."

"Maybe there's a time and a place for decency," he condeded, "But as a general rule I prefer indecency." And when he said it, it was clear he wasn't talking about not turning in found luggage. This flirty, carefree Sawyer excited me, flustered me, made me nervous.

"So, you're serious? About hanging out today?"

"Thursday, trust me. You're the one person on this island whose company is actually worthwhile. I've spent a lot of my life alone, but somehow being on this island makes me feel like the only person left on earth. And not in a good way at all. Everybody's got somebody, it seems like."

"I don't."

"There we go, then. You'll be my somebody. And I'll be yours. If you want." He seemed almost _shy_. This heart-on-his-sleeves Sawyer was going to take some getting used to.

"Whoa, there. Alright, I can be a somebody, I guess." I kicked the newfound luggage with my toe, gently. "There isn't much in here, is there? This won't take us very long. No, we need a bigger project." I eyed the little trapdoor to his stash.

"No way. Nobody goes into the stash. If I'm a leprechaun, that's my pot of gold. I'm not lettin' nobody go through it."

"Well, luckily you're not a leprechaun and I'm not nobody. I'm somebody." I strode towards the stash and yanked the covering-board up, revealing a crazy hoard of goodies.

"Holy crap."

"Cammy, get outta there."

"Think you have enough Playboys? Honestly, you can't possibly need that many. And it's amazing that so many were on the plane. I mean, who travels with Playboys? If you're on a short trip, go without. If you're on a long trip, buy some freaking Australian nudie mags."

"You're ranting about porn." He commented, sounding surprised, confused. I turned to see his face red and his eyes refusing to meet me.

"Christ, Sawyer, lighten up. S'not that big a deal. I'm a teenager, which means I have teenage boys for friends, back home. I'm not someone's grandmother. I was just commenting on the sheer volume of them. You have, like, a nude encyclopedia here." He was about to say something else, but I cut him off. "And razors! Holy crap, you have women's razors." I turned my best puppy-dog eyes on him.

"See, this is why I don't let anybody in my stash. I'm not about to start giving out goodies just 'cause you think you're cute. You don't need anything, anyway."

I stuck a bare leg out to him forcefully. "Go on, feel it."

"No."

"Feel it." I insisted. He did, running a large, rough hand down my calve and back up. I shivered.

"See? Hairy as hell." I said, triumphant.

"I wouldn't say _that_ . . . " he hedged. "I'd say soft. Natural. Maybe you're making a statement about women's liberation or some such."

"Do you see me burning my bra? No, I'm perfectly happy to be a slave to your gender if it means silky smooth legs again."

"Was that a generalization, or an offer?"

"What?"

"When you said you'd be a slave to . . . never mind." He smirked.

"Oh, shut up. I'm alphabetizing."

"What?"

"Okay, categories. No, may as well just go issue number." I made separate piles for different magazines, plain old Playboy being the most proliferous.

"Somethin's wrong with you, Thursday."

"I know. I'm too bored. Do you know you have duplicates here? Honestly. That's just ridiculous."

"It's not exactly my own personal collection. They just turned up with the rest of this junk."

"And you haven't even gone near them, I'm sure." I smirked.

"Oh, stop fantasizing, Cammy."

My turn to blush. I continued organizing, though, until not only the magazines but his entire stash was neat and tidy.

"Aw, Christ." He said, sitting back on his haunches after we'd finished. "If anybody sees this place, they're gonna know a chick's been in here. No self respecting man has his shit this neat."

"You have a point. But this island is doing weird things to me."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not a neat freak. If you saw my bedroom back home . . . "

"And when would I be in a position to see your bedroom, Miss Cammy?"

I rolled my eyes. "That's besides the point."

"Is it?"

"Was that a boner pun?" I asked, uncertain.

"I'm not sure." He laughed.

I was silent a moment. "You shouldn't have-"

"No, I wouldn't. Don't. Never would."

"'Course not." My voice was faint now, mainly because I didn't want to be saying those things.

"No, never." He repeated, looking at me intensely. So much so that I had to look down abruptly to escape his eyes. But he wouldn't let me. He ducked towards me, and his lips found mine forcefully. He leaned on me until I fell backwards, and he fell on top of me, pinning me to the ground. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to escape, but I definitely couldn't. My hand was in his hair, lank and damp with humidity. His hands were behind my head, lowering me to the ground softly until I was laid out flat beneath him, and then they moved away, lower. One stroked swiftly down my face, neck, shoulder, arm, in one rough motion. The other was at my hip, pushing backwards and then at the small of my back, grabbing me close to his body. His hips thrust towards me, and I felt his erection against my leg, riding uncomfortably along two layers of denim. Still pressing me to him tightly and almost painfully with one hand, he brought the other up my side until it was tickling the side of my ribcage and then cupping my breast from the outside. Crude and distant and somehow not a personal enough touch, I wanted more but he had a limit to how much he'd give. When I was certain he'd pull his hand away, he bruhed a thumb over my whole breast, then again and again until the friction and suppressed contact through my shirt and bra was killing me. All the while his breath and his tongue and his lips were all over my face, my neck, pushing at the hem of my shirt as though not understanding why there was a layer between him and more skin, lower skin, skin beyond the neck. I think we were getting to the point of taking clothes off, or we would have been in about fifteen seconds.

But then there were footsteps in the sand. Loud and forceful and . . . Jack.

The tent flap hid us from view long enough to separate, get ourselves upright, and look busy (me pretending to examine the back cover of a book, Sawyer having picked up a crossword puzzle) and then Jack was calling, "Sawyer, you in there?"

"'Course I am, Doc, I live here." Pause. "C'mon in."

I felt Jack's eyes on me, and when I looked at him he had this angry-but-not-at-all-surprised look on his face. "I thought so."

"'Sup, Jack?" I tried to look concerned as though for him, not guilty. I met Sawyer's eyes by accident, and he had this wretched, guilty look on his face. I refrained from scowling, hoping to God he'd wipe that look off before Jack noticed it. Luckily, Jack was still looking at me with that almost betrayed expression.

"I was just looking for you, to see how you're doing."

"I'm good." I nodded my head up and down perhaps more times than was necessary. "Still, ahm, bleeding. Still cramping a bit. Nauseous. But nothing too worrisome, I think."

"We can talk about this in private, you know. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that."

"Well, it's not like I want this all over the island. I mean, Sun already knows, and . . . but given the clearance level of present company _already_ . . ." Jack looked at me sort of blankly. "No, it's fine if Sawyer's here. Assuming this medical talk doesn't squick you out too bad?" I asked doubtfully. Sawyer sort of snorted derisively, and I took this opportunity to see that he had removed that God-awful look from his face, whatever that'd been about. "There's not too much to discuss anyway, is there, Jack?"

"No, I guess not, if you're feeling alright. Like I said, I'm no gynaecologist, I'm only going on common sense and minimal med school training here. I've never dealt with this sort of thing."

"Well, on my next plane ride I'll be sure to bring a gynaecologist along." I smiled, trying to let him know I was joking. I still didn't know if he got it, so I added, "thank you so much, Jack. You've been amazing, and thanks to you I'll be able to put this all behind me and never think about it again."

"Well, I don't know if that's best, given the circumstances . . . of the . . . "

"You're not a cop, Jack, and you're not her lawyer. It's her choice." Sawyer butted in, sensing where the conversation was going.

"And what're you, then? Who're you to be talking for her, if I shouldn't give her advice?"

"I'm someone who can respect her enough to give her some goddamned free will around here."

"Yeah, I'll bet." Jack said, glaring hard at the both of us.

"What's that supposed to mean, Jack?" I asked quietly.

"Just that your track record for guys isn't so great, Cammy. And now you're spilling your secrets to _him_, of all people. You're hanging out with this _asshole_, and it's pretty damn stupid. That's all, Cammy."

I was on my feet in seconds, before Sawyer could quite formulate a response. "Why do we keep coming back to this, Jack? I'm so grateful for your help, but not if it means you're some self-appointed guardian of me. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can see that." He said, looking pointedly at my stomach. I swallowed, hard, as though I'd just been slapped. I took a step backwards just as Sawyer took a step forwards. Jack was breathing heavily, expecting Sawyer to hit him, I knew it. Sawyer glanced at me, bit the inside of his cheek, and stepped back. He did put an arm around me, though, which was an offensive move. This was all like one big game of chess or something, each move having a million little facets you could read into if you understood the rules and the motives just right. Which I think I was beginning to.

"Jack, you should leave. You're upsetting her and I know that's not what you want to do. This isn't you, and you know it. The best way for you to help Cammy right now is to give her some space and be there if and when she does need you." He spoke so calmly, but it was all one big, gloating threat. Maybe that should have bothered me. Maybe it should have bothered me how firm and defensive and _possessive_ his arm felt around my shoulder. It didn't. It all bothered Jack.

"Cammy, is this how it happened the first time? Older guy, seemed okay, started hanging out with him when you knew you shouldn't . . . "

"Jack, shut up. You don't know what you're talking about, and you're wrong."

"I'm just saying, I've seen this pattern before. Girls who move from one abusive relationship to the next, blaming them for all their problems . . . you're too young to get into that shit."

"Blaming . . . but, I told you what happened, it wasn't a _relationship_ . . . "

"I'm sure you believe that, Cammy, but maybe if you'd been a bit more careful with the company you kept . . . "

He was right. I shouldn't have gone to Australia, I should have protected myself, I shouldn't have been so stupid and useless and weak . . . I felt tears form and spill from my eyes as Jack's accusations hit home.

Sawyer's grip on my shoulder was suddenly gone and I felt I might sink to the ground without the support, but I just stood there, mouth open slightly. I had thought Jack was safe, Jack was nice, Jack was to be _trusted_. But his truth had just hit me harder than Oceanic 815 had hit the water six weeks ago.

"Jack. Leave now. You're hurting her, you fucking moron, and you don't even understand what you're saying. She's under my roof and I will not let you do this to her for one more minute."

Jack glared for another moment, before casting a parting shot. "Remember, Cammy, it's all fun and games until somebody gets raped." Loud enough for people outside to hear, maybe. Now I was sure I was going to topple over unless I sat down, but just as my knees buckles Sawyer was there, arms outstretched. He caught me and wrapped me tightly in his arms and we sank to the airplane cushions on the sand and were silent for a while. I wasn't really crying, just fighting to keep my stomach down and to keep breathing. I felt like there was no blood in my head, no blood in my body at all.

**Next ---**


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

"I want to kill him." Sawyer murmured into my hair.

"I can't believe he said those things," I agreed. "That I shouldn't hang out with you because you might . . . because . . . you'd be _abusive_. He made it sound like you were some asshole like . . . like . . ." I lowered my voice even further. "Like Jared. But you could never be like that, never. Jack's so stupid. So, so stupid-"

"Cammy, Cammy, no, stop talking for a minute." I did, so it was only his voice instead of two in chaos. "I don't care about that. Jack can think what he wants about me, as if I care for a minute! And he's got a point, I'm not the most . . . savoury character in town." He almost laughed. "But he made it sound like it was your fault. It wasn't, Cammy. None of it. Never think that, okay? Promise me. Promise me you'll believe me when I say I know it wasn't your fault. This is all on Jared, and he's going to burn in hell for it, if there is a hell. Can you promise me?"

"I don't know about the hell part. That seems harsh for anyone . . . I mean, I hate him, but . . . eternal pit of fire?"

"You are too good. You're too forgiving and too kind and far too fucking good for that bastard to even look at, let alone do what he did. Too good for me to touch, or kiss . . . even in my dreams. Too good."

"Is that why you . . . ?"

"What?"

"When Jack . . . interrupted us. You had this look on your face like you'd just done something wrong."

"I _had_ just done something wrong." The look returned to his face. "I thought, for a minute, that I'd been too . . . that maybe I'd scared you, forced myself on you."

"Scared me? Maybe a little." I smiled, but his hand stopped stroking my hair at my words, and he tensed, about to pull away. I pressed myself closer to him. "No, no. Nothing like that. How many times do I have to tell you that nothing you could ever do would feel like what he did? When I say you scared me, I mean in a good way. Like riding a rollercoaster, and you're terrified but you never want it to end."

"Oh, okay." He said, and returned to holding me and stroking me. "Still, it was wrong."

"You keep saying that, but you haven't exactly followed up on it."

"I know. I should stop. We should stop. Really."

"No." I wasn't too worried. He'd lost the serious tone he used to have when talking about the two of us. It was like I'd finally talked some sense into him and he didn't really expect to convince himself anymore. This in itself scared me a little.

"Well, you, sweetheart, are getting over a bit of a medical condition, so I don't think it's wise to excite you too much anyway. Should be resting."

"Gah. I've probably gained ten pounds from _resting_ since we crashed. It's all I can do! Then again, there's no food, so . . . "

"You are looking a bit skinny. More than usual."

"I think I'm insulted." I sighed. "But really, since I found out about . . . my _condition_ . . . I haven't been hungry at all. And I puked up everything I ate for quite a while there, anyway."

"Stop doing that, then. I can practically count your ribs. _Through your shirt!_" He ran a hand from my lower stomach all the way up to just below my breast, for emphasis.

"Oh, no, don't _do_ that!" I moaned.

"Sorry." He pulled away.

"For Christ's sake, it's not that I don't want you to, don't worry. It's just that . . . if we're not going to be 'exciting me too much' today, we should just refrain altogether, it's less agonizing that way."

"I couldn't agree more." He smirked down at me, then tucked his head into my neck and kissed it seductively, grazing his teeth over the skin and sucking gently. When he pulled away, the air felt cool on the wetness, and I hated him a bit.

"You're a tease." I accused.

"What about you? It is absolutely absurd for a human being to smell and to taste as good as you do while on this Godforsaken rock."

"Me? Taste good? I feel disgusting, all crampy and bleedy and grimy."

"No, your skin is salty and sweet and surprisingly cool."

"Whatever you say." I gave up and laid my head against his chest.

We were quiet for a while, just sitting, until he said tentatively, "I've been wondering . . . "

"What?"

"And let me know if this upsets you, you don't have to talk about it." I swallowed dryly, suddenly apprehensive. "But I've been thinking to myself how odd it would be if you honestly and truly haven't had any boyfriends. Of your own age. Like, Freddy who sits in front of you in math class or something."

"Oh. I . . ."

"Have you not been kissed? Properly, and before you met me, that is?" He said in a low, growly chuckle.

"No. I was never really huge on boys. Boys my age, I should say. So noisy, so immature, so . . . " I looked at him and smiled. "So nothing like you."

"Yes, because I'm a stunning example of maturity."

"You're a stunning example of everything." I said, uncharacteristically sultry-sounding.

"I bet you've had crushes on male teachers, haven't you, miss likes-older-men?"

"Maybe one. Or two."

"And you've had fantasies about staying late after class . . . "

I giggled involuntarily. "Go on then, what's your type?"

He frowned. "Come to think of it, I haven't had sex –or been on a date, for that matter- outside of a con in a long time. I guess you could say my type is vulnerable. Stupid. Rich and gullible. It's been a long time since I've been with a woman I actually liked."

I stroked his face, from temple to chin, looking into his eyes. "Must be lonely. Do you have . . . friends? Back in the States or whatever?"

"Not really. Lone wolf." He tried to laugh, but I put two fingers over his lips and shook my head.

"Not anymore."

"Women who talk like that usually get screwed over for all they're worth. I'm good at making people trust me."

I leaned back so I was sitting upright and I looked him in the eyes, more harshly now. "I do trust you. Is it bad that the only reason for that is that I have nothing you could possibly want? I wonder, if I had money, if I was just some woman with a rich husband, would I trust you?"

"I don't know. I'm pretty good." He said, not joking around.

"You betray trust. You hurt people. You prey on a woman's need for comfort. I absolutely shouldn't trust you."

"Then don't."

"I can't help myself."

"Maybe I can't, either."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that maybe it's in my nature to betray and to screw people over, even when I don't mean to."

"And maybe it's in my nature to overlook the worst in people."

"So," He said, pulling me so that I was sitting practically on top of him with his hands on my hips. "We're either a match made in heaven, perfect for eachother . . . "

"Or?"

"Or I'm the hunter and you're-"

"Prey."

"I'm sorry." He said quickly, but his tone wasn't panicked. "Because you're not. You're not stupid and you're nobody's easy target. Never again. You're a force to be reckoned with, Cammy, I can feel it."

"I'm a fifteen-year-old girl."

"Besides that part, I mean."

I rolled off of him and lay by his side, unsure of what just happened. We'd either cleared some things up or made everything more blurred and foggy, I couldn't tell which. Either way, I didn't feel much different about him. It was as though my eyes had been opened but I wasn't surprised at what I saw.

"Sawyer?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I like you a lot. Too much."

"I think I do, too."

"Is this bad?"

"Maybe."

"Are you still bent on making sure it doesn't happen?"

"No, Cammy, I think I'm done with that act."

"Good. I think."

We lay there in the hot afternoon sun, apart from the world and refusing to admit the inevitability of a future that couldn't be good.


End file.
